


Goodbye Isn't Forever

by Khansfringe, orphan_account



Series: Always [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha!John, Analfingering, Bonding, Fingerfucking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Military Kink, Omega Verse, Omega!Sherlock, PTSD, PTSD John, alternate universe- Domestic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 103,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2480135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khansfringe/pseuds/Khansfringe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This work is part three of Always.</p><p>John and Sherlock's lives are soon to be changed by a new arrival. However, an old threat may yet be looming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! 
> 
> Just a reminder that this is the third part of our Series Always, so if you haven't read the first two or need to catch up then you should definitely read up some because we're picking up right where we left off.
> 
> Today actually marks the one year anniversary of us starting to write Always, and we are coming close to completing the story and look forward to taking you all along the ride we've so enjoyed the last year. 
> 
> Happy Anniversary!

John immediately reached out to steady Sherlock, concern furrowing his brow as he realised what was happening. "Contraction," John murmured, keeping his arm around Sherlock until it had passed. He looked down at his watch, putting the time into his memory. "Should just be a Braxton Hicks contraction, but we'll keep track of the time." He kept his arm circling Sherlock's back as they slowly started walking again. "Practice contraction," he explained quietly. "I've been doing more reading.

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't...it doesn't feel fake," he said, straightening up more and walking along with John. He rubbed his hand over his stomach again, feeling the kicks, feeling her shift. "John, she's moving..." he said, trembling a little, scared now. 

John's heart rate doubled, and he swallowed thickly, squeezing his arm around Sherlock and leading him to the edge of the street. "It's alright," he murmured, raising his hand to flag down a cab. "You're alright, I've got you. It's going to be okay." He opened the door when the cab stopped, letting Sherlock slide in and following after. He checked his watch after telling the cabbie where to go. It had been two minutes, which was good. They still had time then before his water broke. "Plenty of time," he murmured, pulling Sherlock against him.

Sherlock leant against John, gulping down his scent, trying to calm Katherine down like before. "She won't stop..." he said, though the kicks lessened a minute later. He swallowed thickly; he thought he'd been uncomfortable before, this was worse. He whimpered a little, though the contraction didn't happen for another several minutes, though when it did.... Sherlock swore, doubling over again, his breath catching in his chest.

"Shh, shh," John soothed, holding Sherlock closely and marking down the time in his mind again. They weren't very far from the hospital, so he pulled out his phone and called the front desk, telling them that they were coming in because, whether they were ready or not, Sherlock was going into labour soon. "Deep breaths," he told Sherlock once he had hung up the phone.

Sherlock shook his head a little. "C-can't come now... ‘m not ready... she..." His face crumpled a little, and he looked up at John, his eyes showing the fear he felt. It was early, yes she was big but... what if it was too soon? He let out a huff of air, sucking in a sharp breath. "J-John I...I'm scared," he said, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes, trying to get more in control of his breathing as the pain subsided once more.

 John's chest clenched, and he moved to pull Sherlock against him, resting Sherlock's head on his shoulder. "Oh, Sherlock," he whispered, combing through his hair and holding his hand. "It's alright to be scared. I'm scared too, love. But you  _are_  ready, and you're going to be fine. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you or her." He hoped that there would be no complications, that everything would run smoothly. He couldn't live without either of them at this point.

Sherlock nodded shakily, closing his eyes, still breathing in John's scent, which helped. Eventually the cab pulled to a stop, and he was helped out of it, onto the pavement and into the hospital. "J-John... the bag, at home..." he said. They'd got a bag ready, to take to the hospital. Clothes, baby clothes, even a couple of cold cases for Sherlock to look at during their stay.

They were met by Dr Maria and a nurse, who had a wheelchair for him. He sank down into it, not relinquishing John's hand.

"Won't be needing it for a few more hours," John said, keeping Sherlock's hand in his as they made their way through the hospital, the nurse fluttering around taking Sherlock's blood pressure. "I'll call Mrs. Hudson and she can bring it by later." He looked over at the doctor, who was standing calmly, obviously not concerned in the least about Sherlock being in already. "His last two contractions were five minutes apart," he told her, keeping his voice steady. "Hasn't had another yet."

Maria nodded, turning into a room.

Sherlock was ushered up and the nurse brought him a hospital gown to change into.

Dr Maria turned to John. "Alright, just keep everything calm okay? Get him changed, we'll see where we're at. Sometimes they can be a little sporadic," she said, giving John's arm a squeeze. 

John nodded, walking over to Sherlock and leading him over to the bed. John eased him down onto it, stepping back for a moment as the nurse hooked up the monitors, and then returning to his side once she had left.

Sherlock settled back onto the bed, which was one that easily broke apart to turn into a chair for birthing. He knew he'd get moved to a real bed eventually but for now, this. His shirt was pulled off and monitors put both on his chest and on his belly. He looked over at the screens, seeing another one with a faster heartbeat on it, one that being printed out as the readings came. Katherine. He slowly pulled on the gown, trying to shrug off his trousers and then his pants, both catching around his ankles.

"How are you, sweetheart?" John asked softly, stroking a hand through his hair, linking their fingers together with his other hand.

"’m okay," Sherlock said shakily, squeezing John's hand. He winced, feeling another kick.

"Alright then, lay back for me?" Maria asked as she came back in, coming forward and bending Sherlock's knees a little, gently lifting up his gown. Sherlock closed his eyes, looking away, his ears a little red. He'd only had to get one other exam during the whole pregnancy, and that was when he'd lost the first pup, and he wasn't really coherent for that. John stayed up towards his head though, where Sherlock could see him.

 Maria covered him back up and nodded a little. "Looks like we might be here for a little while, so just sit tight for now. Have you two decided where you stand on pain medication when it comes time for that?" she asked.

Sherlock blinked a few times; they hadn't discussed it, this wasn't supposed to happen yet.

John shook his head at Maria, squeezing Sherlock's hand when he caught his worried look. "Can we have a few minutes to talk about it?" Maria nodded and left, and John turned back to fully face Sherlock, cupping his cheek. "I think you should," he said quietly. "Five millilitres instead of ten, though. Take off the edge but you'll still have control of what you're doing." He stroked through Sherlock's hair, his brows furrowing. "Love, you need to relax. Breathe," he instructed calmly, running his fingers down Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock shivered a little, the nurse coming over with a blanket for him. He let out a breath, taking in a slower one. "I... I read that it drugged the pup too," he said. "I don't want that for her I... I did enough drugs already, I don't want her coming into the world high," he said; he didn't want it to hurt her. He rolled onto his side, curling up a little, looking at John as he tried to get comfortable. His heart sped up a little as he felt another contraction, a small whimper coming from him.

John bit his lip, leaning down and resting his forehead against Sherlock's, closing his eyes. "You're alright," he whispered, glancing at his watch again. That one was seven. "Five millilitres, please, Sherlock," he whispered, begging. He didn't want to see Sherlock in pain. And pups were born healthy with ten millilitres all the time. He had been. "Please, Sherlock, just do this for me." He squeezed Sherlock's hand again, soothing his thumb over his knuckles.

Sherlock tried to keep his breathing even, squeezing John's hand. He let out a huff when it had passed. "F-fine," he said, looking up at John, trembling. "F-fine, but... only wh-when it's needed," he said, humming a little. It went on like that for a while, every seven to ten minutes, another, but they didn't get any shorter in between. Dr Maria said that obviously Katherine was in a rush, but would do things in her own time. Definitely stubborn.

\----------------------------------------------------------

It was a few hours later, and still no progress. This was tedious, uncomfortable, and painful on regular intervals. Sherlock looked up at John, who was sitting next him. "You should... call your mother and Harry. Don't.... Tell them not to come though... not yet," he said, shaking his head a little, a bit of sweat on his brow. "I just want you here," he murmured.

John shook his head stubbornly, keeping his head tucked in near Sherlock's, breathing in the Omega's scent and letting him inhale his own. "They can wait," he said quietly, his hand resting on Sherlock's belly, rubbing gently to try to soothe both Sherlock and Katherine. "You need all of my focus now." He looked up at the clock, seeing that it was past dinner already, but he wasn't hungry. "If you hold out much longer," he murmured, nuzzling against Sherlock's neck, "we're going to have two birthdays to celebrate tomorrow."

Sherlock groaned a little, curling tighter. He took a shaky breath. "Th-this ruins everything," he murmured. "W-was making plans... f-fake a c-case. G-get you to go out..." he said, shaking his head a little. "Wanted to do something s-special for you," he said quietly, opening his eyes to look up at John.

"What, you don't think this is special?" John asked, stroking Sherlock's hair back from his forehead. "Love, you worry too much." Yeah, he still hurt, that pain _just there_  below the surface, but he was distracted with worry for Sherlock, for someone that he couldn't lose and had to protect.

Sherlock leant into John's hand, blinking a few times. "W-wanted to... distract you," he murmured. "Guess she did too," he murmured, tensing up again as another contraction came, sooner this time, Sherlock could tell, though as it turned out, only by about thirty seconds. He let out a breath, taking in another slowly, like he'd read.

"Y-you haven't eaten... sh-should eat," he said, looking at John, twining his fingers with the Alpha's. 

 "I'm not leaving your side until you are passed out from exhaustion with our daughter in your arms," John said firmly, squeezing Sherlock's hand reassuringly. "They're getting a little shorter. That one was five minutes thirty," he murmured. Just a little longer than the first two contractions.

Sherlock nodded a little, bringing John's hand to his face, nuzzling against it. "I love you," he said softly, closing his eyes a minute. "Think... might try and rest some... before..." he trailed off. He swallowed, pressing his forehead to John's. "I want you to stay... happy you're... staying.." he trailed off, curling up a little more.

John closed his eyes, feeling Sherlock slowly drift off. He swallowed thickly, leaning up to kiss his forehead before settling back into the chair. He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. Burying his face against his knees, he choked on a soft sob, unwanted tears streaming down his cheeks. He wasn't sure if he was crying from stress, or from the pain of the past few days, or from the low, gut-tearing fear that something was going to go very, very wrong with the delivery. It was probably a combination of all of them, but he hated himself for it. Sherlock was going through this and staying strong, and he was curled up and crying. But he just couldn't seem to stop.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock stirred in his sleep a few times, tensing up and even opening his eyes a little when the contractions came, but he'd gotten so little sleep as of late that he drifted back off, not even remembering them; they didn't feel as bad for the moment.

Maria came in at one point, looking towards John. "I understand you're worried," she said softly, taking up one of Sherlock's hands and expertly inserting a needle, which didn't even register for Sherlock, still asleep. She set up a drip for him, looking over the baby’s heartbeat. "They're both doing fine," she said softly, looking at John. "She's early, but she's a bit ahead with development, eager to get out of there I think," she said, giving John's shoulder a small squeeze. 

John nodded, still curled up on the chair. His tears had dried a while ago, but he hadn't been able to force himself to move. He had been watching Sherlock until Maria had come in, and he then watched her. Now he watched her leave, dropping his forehead onto his knees. Her words made him feel a little better, but he wasn't going to get too happy just to be torn down again. He wasn't being pessimistic, he was being... cautious. He sighed wearily, shoulders tense, his left one stinging a little. 

 _It'll be fine. Sherlock's fine. They're both fine._  He repeated that in his head, looking back up at Sherlock and watching closely, protectively, as he slept.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock slept for a few hours, something in his drip helping him to by dulling the pain just slightly. He hummed a little, waking up with a small whimper, a tightening cramp bringing him to. He reached out and took John's hand tightly, swallowing thickly, waiting for it to pass, which it did. He blinked a few times, looking at John, curled up as he was.

"Hey," Sherlock said, looking at the needle in his right hand. He let out a breath, shifting a bit on the bed. "Still no pup then?" he asked with a small smile. "Was hoping it would just happen while I was asleep," he said, trying to get John to smile a little. He furrowed his brow a bit, looking over at the clock. He let out a breath, watching the last minute tick past. He looked over at John, giving his fingers a light squeeze. "Happy Birthday," he said quietly.

John gave a weak smile at Sherlock's attempt to cheer him up, squeezing his hand back. He looked up at the clock, staring at it for a full minute before he blinked again, the small movement causing his whole body to shift, change back into the mask he had been wearing for the last few days. "Thanks," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss Sherlock's forehead softly. "How do you feel?" he asked, changing the topic away from himself.

Sherlock shifted a bit on the bed, seeing the change in John's expression. He let out a breath, too tired to want to argue with John about it. "Mm feel like my body's trying to push a squishy, kicking, pink thing out of it, and said squishy thing has something to say about it," he murmured, running his hand over his stomach again.

John smiled slightly, resting his hand over the top of Sherlock's on the Omega's belly. "Shouldn't be long now," he murmured, rubbing his thumb in slow circles. "Your last two contractions were two minutes apart. She's getting closer."

Sherlock swallowed, letting out a breath. "Only two?" he murmured, tensing up as another came. That woke him up a little more.

 Maria came back in, looking at the two of them. "Back on your back love, need to check again," she said.

Sherlock stiffly rolled onto his back, hiking up his legs carefully. He felt a hand, and he closed his eyes a little, letting out a breath. Maria looked up at them. "Soon," she said with a nod, standing up. "Very soon, I'm going to send someone in to get you your pain meds, alright love?" she asked. Sherlock nodded, starting to feel more on edge.

"Sherlock, relax," John whispered, kissing Sherlock's forehead and down to his temple and jaw, over to his chin and then up to his lips. "You're going to be okay, I promise." He watched the nurse as she walked in, five millilitres in the syringe as John and Sherlock had decided on. She injected the clear fluid into Sherlock's IV line, patting his arm before walking away. "You've got this," he murmured, resting his forehead against Sherlock's.

Sherlock whined as another contraction pushed through him. He looked at the injection, letting out a breath as he felt it take hold a little, a small bit of the pain going away. Sherlock's heart sped up though, the next contraction almost right on top of the last. He gasped, leaning his head back into the pillow. Maria was back in a yellow smock as well as one of her nurses.

 "John," she said, handing one of the smocks to him. "Okay Sherlock, we're going to get you situated," she said, as they started to adjust the bed, folding down the bottom of it, a pair of stirrups being brought up.

 Sherlock almost didn't register those, though, as his legs were put into them, he was looking at John with wide eyes. "J-John..." he said, gripping his hand.

John quickly slipped on the smock, going right back to Sherlock and taking his hand. "You're alright," he promised, squeezing his hand. "Hold onto me, I've got you." He didn't so much as wince when Sherlock's fingers squeezed tightly around another contraction. "Follow my breaths," he instructed, seeing and hearing that Sherlock's were a bit out of control. "There you go, like that. Relax, love. It's going to be fine."

Sherlock looked at John the whole time, trembling more than he liked, forcing his breaths to somewhat match John's. After another contraction he felt Maria's hand on his leg. "Alright Sherlock, on the next one, I need to you push alright?" she asked, looking at him. Sherlock clenched his jaw, nodding a little.

 "G-going to be... f-f-fine," he repeated John, feeling the next one build. Despite it being everything he didn't want to do when he felt the grip of the contraction, he pushed, a pained noise coming from him as he did so. He fell back, panting when it was over, his hair dampening more with sweat.

"I've got crowning, looks like a head of dark hair," Maria said, but Sherlock couldn’t focus all that well on just what was being said. 

John smiled, his hand still clenched around Sherlock's. "Hear that? You were bloody right again." He reached up to stroke through Sherlock's hair, holding tight through the next contraction and push, this one lasting a little longer. "Breathe, Sherlock," he reminded, still stroking Sherlock's damp hair, still holding his hand, returning the vice-like grip. "She's coming, Sherlock, but you still need to breathe." He cringed a little at the next contraction, not enjoying how loudly Sherlock cried out at that one. He wished he could take the pain from him.

Sherlock nodded, gulping deep breaths though they were pushed out quickly. He almost wished he'd taken the full 10 ml. He leant his head back, hearing Maria say something about one last push. He almost couldn't hear her, but he complied, putting everything he had into the next one, his own cry being drowned out by the high pitched wail that sounded a moment later, Sherlock feeling the pressure finally subside.

He let out a breath, and all he could hear as things seemed to slow down was the screeching wail that filled the room, along with the words, ‘it's a girl.’ His eyes honed in on the small thing they were wiping down, running quick checks, and a moment later, not even wrapped, it was set in his arms, the top of his gown being pulled down by nurse, setting the warm, soft, still crying infant on his skin, and he felt almost like he was shocked by the contact. His arms closed around it... _her_ , as he looked, his mouth hanging open as he looked at the squinting infant.

John's knees finally gave out, and he only just managed to pull the chair as close to Sherlock's bed as he could before he sat down heavily, releasing Sherlock's hand and wrapping his arm around his waist. He rested there for a moment, a stupid grin eaten away at his face before he pushed himself up, looking at the both of them. "Katherine Nichole Holmes, stop you're crying," he said softly but firmly, reaching out to touch her flailing fist with his finger. She gave another fuss, quieting a moment later and opening her eyes, though from this angle, John couldn't see them, and he didn't have the strength to stand up just yet.

Sherlock’s eyes blinked rapidly, looking at her still. He took a breath, everything still seeming slowed down. He heard her fussing cease and she looked up at him with large, blue eyes, though her face was still scrunched with displeasure at being thrust out into the cold. Sherlock ran one finger slowly down her face, looking at one of her tiny hands, her fingers closing tightly around one of his. A tired smile pulled at his face. "Bout time you got here," he said, still catching his breath.

 He blinked a few times, feeling a little light headed. One of the nurses came up and took Katherine. "Got to bundle her up," she said, promising to give her back. Maria hadn't come back up though. Sherlock blinked again, still looking over at the small cot with a lamp over it that they took the infant to, not wanting to take his eyes off her.

He hummed a little. "John... we... made that," he said, his head leaning back and rolling to the side, face a little pale.

 Maria suddenly swore, ordering a few nurses around. One of them took John by the arm, tugging him to the side and out of the room. "You need to wait, go to the nursery, we'll bring her there soon," was all she said, heading back into the room, Maria saying something about Sherlock still bleeding.

A few minutes later Katherine was carried out of the room, wrapped up tightly and crying again. One of the nurses handed her to John and ushered them down the hall. "They're taking care of him, we'll come and get you, but you can stay with her for now," she said, gesturing to a small cot that was labelled for her.

***

John tried to resist when he was dragged from the room, wanting  _needing_  to be with Sherlock. His stomach had dropped, his heart in his throat, and he couldn't think past getting back to Sherlock's side. He whimpered when the door was shut on him, and he was stuck out in the hallway. He paced fiercely, up and down in front of the door. He looked up, hoping for news, his daughter getting set in his arms instead. He tried to ask how Sherlock was, but the reply that he was being taken care of was brief, and didn't settle John's stomach.

"It's fine," he whispered, bouncing Kat gently in his arms as he walked down to the nursery. "It's going to be fine. Daddy's gonna make it." He bit his lips to keep it from trembling, looking down at a baby girl with obviously curly dark hair and eyes like his own, with just a touch of yellow around the irises. He entered the nursery and one of the nurses took Katherine away from him, checking her over.

The infant kept crying, not being soothed by the gentle cooing of the nurse as the final checks were done with her.

The nurse looked over at John. "Perfectly healthy," she said. "Even for being early. She's got good lungs, I'll give her that," she said, looking down at the wailing pup. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed the chapter. For those who have followed us as we published last time there will be a slight change. Both of us are in school and therefore fairly busy, so posting of part three of Always will be down to once a week on Sundays, though that's not to say we may never post earlier than that or more than that. But you can count on one chapter each week for sure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We decided on updating a day early, so here you all are!

It was half an hour later that Maria came back, dressed down. She nodded at the nurse, telling her to take Katherine to the other room, looking at John. "He's fine," she said. "Sorry to throw you out so unceremoniously, but in my experience it's easier for us to do our jobs if the bondmate isn't there barking at us or having a panic attack," she said, gesturing for John to follow.

 She led them down the hall, the nurse carrying Katherine ahead of them, walking into a room and setting her down in a cot. Sherlock was lying in a bed, asleep, cleaned up more with a fresh drip bag. "He's fine as I said, just lost a bit more blood than I would have liked. He should wake soon, see if you can get him to feed her. We prefer first feeding to be from the parent, infants don't take to it if they had a bottle first," she said. "If he doesn't then we'll just do formula; she needs to eat," she said gently, squeezing John's arm. "I'll be back in a little bit." She left then, and soon after Katherine started wailing again.          

Sherlock stirred a little at the noise, his brows pinching together a bit.

John walked over to the pup, picking her up and rocking her gently, bouncing a little. She quieted down again, and John walked around, smiling down at her as she clutched his finger in her tiny fist, trying to fling it around. "See? Told you Daddy would be fine," he murmured, more to himself than anything. He paced the room slowly, watching her eyes darting around, her feet kicking every so often, but for the most part, she was still. "You're ridiculously adorable. A bit like your dad, to be honest. Nothing like me, thankfully," he teased, smiling, and leant down to bump noses with her, waiting for Sherlock to wake up.

Sherlock made a small noise, blinking his eyes open. "John?" he asked before his vision even focused. He swallowed thickly, blinking a few times again, seeing John holding the bundle. "John?" he said again, pushing himself up a little and adjusting his bed a fraction. "Is that... is she..?" He shook his head a little, still waking up. He'd just been holding her; what was going on?

John looked up, slowly making his way over to Sherlock and perching on the edge of the bed. "You were bleeding," he explained, handing Katherine over to Sherlock, settling his hand on Sherlock's arm. "They kicked me out and gave me Katherine to take to the nursery. You're fine, though. Just a scare, apparently." He brushed his fingers through Sherlock's hair, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. "Maria says she needs to be fed. Do you think you can manage?"

Sherlock eagerly took her from John, holding her close to his chest again. He lifted up his hand and stroked one of her soft, dark curls. He sighed a little, taking in every one of her features, her cupid bows lips, and even a somewhat scrunched up nose like John's. He hummed a little, touching her cheek lightly. She turned her head and wrapped her lips around his finger tip, sucking lightly on it before frowning, a wail escaping her when she realised there was no food coming from it.

He licked his lips, then nodded a little. "I think so," he said, reaching back to undo his gown a little, cradling her near his chest, which still felt swollen. He sighed, wincing a little as she latched on greedily to him. He sighed a moment later, feeling something almost calming, like he'd been waiting to hold her like this.

He looked up at John, still feeling exhausted. "She's beautiful," he breathed softly.

John smiled, resting his forehead against Sherlock's for a moment before kissing him softly. "Yeah she is. She's got a lot of you in her. Good thing, too. Can't have her walking around looking like a gruffly soldier, can we?" he teased gently, sighing and watching the two of them.

"I should go call Mum and Harry, and Mrs Hudson too. And I'll send a text to Mycroft, since I know you won't." He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead before backing out of the room slowly, lifting the phone to his ear and making the two calls and sending the text.

Sherlock opened his mouth in protest, not wanting John to leave, but he did. He looked down, settling back against his pillows, stroking down her soft cheek with one finger. Katherine's mouth was moving constantly, though it slowed as she drifted off, never stopping though. Sherlock smiled, thinking about what John said, not leaving until Sherlock was passed out from exhaustion, Kat in his arms. He smiled, drifting off, his arms still wrapped firmly around her. 

The phone calls took far too long, and by the time John had returned, Sherlock and Katherine were both fast asleep. But he was content to watch them both.

***

Mrs. Hudson and Harry both promised to come by and visit in the morning, there was, however one person who arrived quite shortly after the message was sent out. Mycroft soon stepped into Sherlock's room, lingering in the doorway, looking at John watch the two of them, seeing the infant tucked into a bundle. "I saw that he'd been admitted... I wanted to be sure... that I was wanted," he said softly, looking at Sherlock, fast asleep, his eyes drifting to the infant in Sherlock's arms. His tone seemed different, looking at her. 

John turned his head to look at Mycroft, smiling softly. He was in a far better mood outwardly, hiding everything negative, though he knew that probably wasn't the greatest idea. "Come in, Mycroft. May as well meet your niece." He sat up a little, exhausted as he was, but continued to stroke Sherlock's hand. "I know we've had our differences regarding your brother, but you're still family."

Mycroft stepped forward. "As far as I've seen it, we have had little differences, save how we do things. We both care about him, and want his safety," he said, looking closer at the infant.

John looked back down at Sherlock, reaching out to gently brush his finger across his cheek. "We named her Katherine," he told Mycroft softly.

He blinked once, though his composure seemed to soften at hearing the name. "Katherine..." he murmured quietly. He let out a breath, nodding. "It's suited," he said, looking to John.

 "You got him to go, the other day. To their grave; even I couldn't. Thank you, John," he said, looking down at Katherine again.

"Getting him there was like pulling teeth, but... I knew it would help." John stayed leant forward, his elbows on his knees. Exhausted as he was, he was having trouble falling asleep.

Mycroft let out a breath, pulling up a chair. He seemed to relax a fraction, rubbing his face. He glanced up at Sherlock, seeing him still fast asleep. "I might not tell anyone else this John, consider yourself quite lucky but..." he sighed. "Gregory wants one," he said, his eyes still on the wrapped bundle in John's arms.

John looked up at Mycroft, not making any surprised noises or sarcastic comments. "What about you? Do you want a pup?" he asked quietly. "Just forget about everything else for a moment. Your job and Greg's job aside, do you want a pup?" He looked down at his own daughter, smiling softly, reaching out to stroke along her fingers. She stirred a little, opening her hand and closing it again around John's finger. "They're worth it," he whispered, keeping his finger in place.

Mycroft was a bit taken aback by the question, and had to think for a moment. Gregory's job was secure, and he could get paid leave, though even if he didn't Mycroft would see that they didn't go without. Mycroft knew his job would make it difficult, and he already had his hands full with Moriarty and keeping track of his brother and John. They were getting closer to Moriarty, he just had to show himself one time, and they would get him. He let out a breath. "I think... I would. Eventually," he said slowly. "And if I give one to him sooner than I might like... I think I wouldn't mind," he said.

John nodded slowly, watching Katherine stir a little in her sleep. She was going to get hungry again soon, which meant fussing and crying. He lifted her up slowly from Sherlock's arms, careful not to disturb him, and stood up with her, walking slowly around the room. "Then I think you should," he said quietly, looking back over at Mycroft. "Don't put it off." He walked over to Mycroft, rocking Katherine slowly. "Would you like to hold her?" he asked softly, glancing up at him and then back down at his daughter.

Mycroft blinked a few times, looking at John, and then Katherine. He let out a breath then nodded, carefully taking her into his arms, looking down at her with a soft expression he hadn't worn since he'd held his own brother like this.

 "She looks like him, when he was born," he said. "Though there is something particularly Watson about her as well," he said, with one glance up at John. He held her for a minute before she started to fuss quietly, head turning as if in search for food. He handed her back to John with a small sigh, looking up at Sherlock when the Omega made a noise, waking up at the sound of the infant.

Sherlock blinked his eyes open, seeing Mycroft there. "Myc?" he asked drowsily. He was actually there? Sherlock didn't expect him to come. Mycroft walked over and set a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"I came to see you two, though as always brother, you were asleep," he said with a small smile. "I believe she's hungry, and I need to tend to some business, I'll come by again tomorrow perhaps, bring Gregory," he said, casting a small look towards John. He looked back at Sherlock, "I am proud of you, brother," he said with a small squeeze of his shoulder before leaving.

Sherlock blinked a few times, shaking his head a small bit. Did that happen? He looked over to John holding a fussy Katherine. 

John smiled, handing their daughter back over to Sherlock. "Yeah, that just happened. Apparently, your brother has a soft spot for pups," he said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and stroking Sherlock's hair. He thought about what Mycroft had told him, wondering why he had confided in him.

He sighed; the Holmes' were confusing.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, twirling a curl around his finger.

Sherlock hummed softly, a tired smile on his face. "Tired but... happy," he said, letting out a slow breath. He glanced over towards the door. "Mycroft helped raise me, I don't know why I could never see him as a father, but maybe he'd actually be good at it," he said with a small smile. He looked over at Kat. "She hungry again?" he asked, holding his arms out for her.

"Maybe I won't fall asleep holding her this time," he said, glancing up at John.

"Not too horrible a way to spend your birthday?" he asked, taking Katherine when John offered her, leading her to his chest, which she latched onto quickly.

"No, it's not too horrible," John murmured, leaning forward to kiss Sherlock's forehead. He looked down at Katherine, smiling softly at Sherlock holding her.

 Sherlock stroked Katherine’s cheek gently, his face pinching a small bit in thought, "Part of what you said, wondering why you were still here..." he nodded down to her. "This is why," he said.

"Here for you, too," John said softly, moving back down to his chair. "Would you kill me if I tried to sleep?" he asked, leaning forward to fold his arms over the edge of the bed and use them to pillow his head. "Mrs Hudson's coming in a few hours, but mostly she's just dropping off the bag for us. Harry and Mum probably won't be coming until..." he paused to yawn, "until the afternoon."

Sherlock shook his head, "No, why would I?" he said. "I've been sleeping, granted I technically just had her, but you were up with me," he said, reaching down and running his fingers through John's hair. "If I need something I can ring a nurse," he murmured softly, turning his attention back to Katherine. She smelled so different, like both of them, but at the same time, like neither of them. He smiled, touching her face again gently, then her small hand. 

John smiled, humming softly at Sherlock's fingers in his hair. He closed his eyes, listening to the soft noises Katherine kept making. It didn't take long before he was asleep, snoring softly, his hand reaching out unconsciously to touch Sherlock's thigh.

About twenty minutes after John fell asleep, a nurse brought Katherine's cot over to the side of his bed, and let Sherlock put her in, helping him to the bathroom. Walking felt a bit different now, but he was soon back in bed, looking at Katherine. He dozed off and on, keeping an eye on both his mate and his daughter. He let out a breath; the best parts of his life now.

\--------------------------------------------------------

 It was several hours later when John woke up to what sounded like screaming, his heart beating like mad and adrenaline pulsing automatically through his system. He looked up at Sherlock, noticing that both he and Katherine were fine. Silence carried on for another several minutes, and it was only then that John realised the screaming had been in his head. He dropped his forehead onto his crossed arms, letting out a slow huff of breath, trying to calm down.

Sherlock was awake once more when John woke up, looking at him with a touch of concern. "Hey... what's wrong?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. "John?" he asked, scooting over on the bed and tugging on his arm. "Get up here, I miss you," he said.

John obediently stood up, toeing off his shoes and crawling under the thin blanket, lying down beside Sherlock with his head on his shoulder and his arm lightly wrapped over his swollen-but-deflating belly.

 "Must've been a nightmare," he murmured, nuzzling against Sherlock's shoulder, "but I don't remember it. Just heard a scream and woke up." He leaned up, pressing a soft kiss under Sherlock's jaw. "I miss you too," he sighed softly, stroking his fingers along Sherlock's side.

Sherlock wrapped an arm around John, nuzzling close to him. "I'm sorry love," Sherlock said quietly, knowing he rarely ever used pet names, those were John's area, but he felt it needed. He cupped John's face lightly, resting his forehead against his. "Just a nightmare," he murmured.

"I know," John sighed, leaning up to kiss Sherlock lightly. He nuzzled against Sherlock's palm, smiling slightly. "You're starting to smell like us again already," he murmured, nipping gently at the inside of Sherlock's wrist.

Sherlock smiled a little. "’m glad I still smell like us," he murmured.

John went quiet for a moment, listening to the monitors in the room and to Sherlock's breathing. "How's Katty? Sleeping?" he asked, peering over at the cot beside the bed.

Sherlock looked over at the cot and nodded. "Yes, quiet thing. Only fusses so far when she's hungry. Makes sense why I ate so much while I still had her in here," he murmured. "But then she could also just be tired; apparently getting born can really take it out of you. She could just be saving all the screaming for home," he murmured with a small smile.

 He heard a small noise then, seeing a tiny flailing fist as Katherine woke up. Probably having heard them talking. He sighed, sitting up a little and scooping her up, rolling onto his left side and holding her between the two of them. Kat swung her fist a little, having worked it free, again, from the bundle the nurse had wrapped her in, her arm exposed. 

"That's the fourth time she's done that," he said, tucking her arm back a little. "I had to ask the nurse to bump up the heat in the room so she wouldn't get cold.”

John chuckled quietly, running his fingers through her dark hair and soothing one finger down her cheek. "Wants her way," he said quietly, watching as she pulled her arm free again. "Stop that now," he chided softly, putting her arm back into her bundle.

Sherlock smiled. "Now you see what I had to deal with," he said with a smirk.

"No wonder your back hurt so much, though," John said, looking up at Sherlock with a small smile. "She was nearly nine pounds when she was born." He leaned up to kiss Sherlock's nose. "You did well, love," he murmured, sinking back down and looking at the two of them.

Sherlock sighed. "Nine pounds... Christ, and nearly two weeks early. I'm glad she didn't wait," he murmured. Who knows how much blood he would have lost then?

 A nurse came in a little while later with food for Sherlock, and an extra plate for John as well. "Now I want you eating all of that, you're still feeding her after all," the nurse said. Sherlock rolled his eyes, sitting up, though he didn't relinquish Katherine yet.

"Here," John offered, taking Katherine from him with only a slight protest from Sherlock. "We'll take turns eating. You first." He motioned at Sherlock's plate with raised eyebrows when he didn't listen right away. "I'll eat too, don't worry. But like the nurse said, you're still feeding her. You need to eat." He bounced Katherine a little when she made a small fuss, waving that arm around again. John sighed lightly, smiling and letting her grab onto his finger again, not bothering tucking her arm back in right away.

Sherlock huffed a breath, then took the plate of food, and started eating. It was hospital food. Boiled instead of baked or fried, everything balanced and bland. He sighed, but ate quickly, feeling hungry, though not nearly as much as he would have been the day before. He finished his plate soon enough, looking over at the two of them. "Your turn," he said, smiling a small bit.

John sighed, giving Katherine up to Sherlock, though he didn't really want to let her go. He ate his food quickly, trying not to taste it, and then set his plate aside. "I don't suppose..." he trailed off as there was a knock on the door and Mrs Hudson walked in, answering his question. "Hello, Mrs H," he smiled, but the older woman wasn't paying attention to him. She was smiling softly at the pink bundle in Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock looked up at John, wondering what it was he was going to ask when he heard the knock. He looked over and saw Mrs Hudson come in. She was positively beaming, smiling as she set down Sherlock's bag and strode over to look at Katherine.

 "Oh, she is just the most precious little thing, well done you boys," she said, looking up at them. "God, and that small little head, goodness, I've got to start knitting for a nice winter cap for her," she said.

Sherlock let out a breath, it was barely just spring, but he didn't dare tell Mrs. Hudson no.

John chuckled softly, knowing that Mrs Hudson was basically going to be another grandmother to Katherine. "That would be lovely, Mrs H. Just no pink; she's got plenty of that," he teased, squeezing Sherlock's free hand. "Thanks for bringing the bag," he said, nodding at it.

Mrs Hudson nodded. "Of course, plenty of other colours: violent, chartreuse, a nice yellow," she said, looking at Sherlock. "May I?" she asked, holding out her arms.

Sherlock almost held her tighter; it was one thing handing her over to John, and even then part of him didn't want to, he wanted to keep her, he'd held her for so long... that was his job. He bit his lip, then hesitantly passed her to Mrs Hudson, tensing up though as soon as she was in someone else's arms that weren't his or John's.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand a little tighter.  _It's alright, nothing's going to happen._  It didn't surprise him at all that Sherlock was tensing up and unwilling to share, but he was glad that he handed her over.

Sherlock let out a breath, returning the pressure on John's hand. Mrs Hudson cooed and bounced Katherine gently, smiling down at her. She blinked a couple times, then tutted. "Someone needs changing," she murmured.

Sherlock opened his mouth, about to offer, though he realised he knew nothing about changing a diaper. He hadn't thought of that, but how hard could it be?

"I'll take care of it," Mrs Hudson said, picking up the bag she had brought.

Sherlock shifted again, just wanting to hold Katherine again.

John leaned over to kiss Sherlock's temple. "Relax. Watch how she does it, and then you can do it from here on out," he murmured, softly enough that only he could hear. Resting his head against Sherlock's, he turned to watch as well, thanking Mrs Hudson when she was done.

Sherlock nodded, though he bumped his head against John's a little. "Don't think you're getting out of doing your fair share of them too," he murmured.

"May I?" John asked with a pleasant smile, holding out his hands for Katherine.

"Oh, of course, dear," Mrs H said, smiling and handing her over. John held Katherine between himself and Sherlock for a moment, then slowly handed her over, reaching for the bag as an excuse to do so.

Sherlock smiled when John handed Katherine over to him. "Hello there," he said softly to her, watching her coo at him, shoving her fist practically into her mouth. He smiled a little, looking at the bag. "Can we put her in that one outfit Harry and Clara gave us? It's in the bag, the dotted one. She can be wearing it when they visit later," he said, nuzzling close to Katherine and breathing in her baby scent.

"Oh, look who's being considerate of others now," John teased, nudging Sherlock with his elbow. He took the outfit out, setting it on Sherlock's lap. "I'm going to go brush my teeth," he declared, pulling out his toothbrush and walking into the bathroom.

"You're funny," Sherlock muttered with a small smile, watching him leave for the bathroom. Mrs Hudson congratulated him again, promising a good dinner for when they came home. When John returned, it was to see Mrs Hudson standing to leave. He walked up to her and gave her a tight hug, thanking her again.

 Meanwhile, Sherlock laid Katherine out on the bed, unwrapping her gently. She wriggled, glad to be free of the blanket it seemed. Smiling a little, Sherlock carefully pulled off the hospital pyjamas they'd had her in – plain, hideous shade of pink that it was. He ran his fingers over her soft skin, tickling her gently and seeing her arms flail in response. He grinned, gently getting her into the polka dotted footies with little mitts that folded over her hands so she couldn't scratch herself. 

John walked over, standing by the bed with his hands in his pockets. "You shouldn't have been so worried," he said, smiling. "You're a natural." He kissed Sherlock's temple, reaching out to softly play with one of Katherine's curls. "I still can't get over how much she looks like you. I'm a bit jealous, really," he teased, running a couple of his fingers down her chest and smiling when she cooed softly.

Sherlock smiled a little at the compliment as he rested his hand on her torso, which was practically the size of his hand. "She looks like you though too," he said. "Her nose, and look," he said, putting his finger near her mouth. She latched onto it, sucking a few times before she realised there was nothing coming from it. Her face pinched up and though she continued to suck regardless, she had a very Watson looking expression of disgruntlement.

Sherlock smiled. "There, now see, she takes after you," he said.

John smacked Sherlock's shoulder, running the side of his finger across Kat's cheek. "Maybe her temperament is going to be more like mine, then," he suggested, though he wasn't sure he wished for that entirely. He wanted a balance in her of both Sherlock and himself, a balance of both of their finer points. He sighed lightly, wrapping his arm around Sherlock's shoulders.

Sherlock smiled. "Maybe," he murmured, looking at Katherine, how she looked around with such wide eyes, taking in her surroundings as much as her limited, new born vision would allow. "She's quiet though... like I was. She's so observant already," he said; perhaps all infants were, but he refused to believe that she was just ordinary. He leant into John. "I love you," he said quietly. "Both of you, so much," he said.

"I love you too," John whispered, kissing Sherlock's temple again, his fingers lacing with the Omega's. There was a soft sound at the door, and John looked up to see his mum and Harry standing at the threshold.

"We can come back, if you like," his mum teased, stepping farther into the room. John beckoned them both inside, giving Harry a 'be on your best behaviour' look and raising his eyebrows.

Sherlock looked up, his ears reddening a little. He watched the two of them come in, picking up Kat and cradling her in his arms. Her tiny arm flung out again, fingers wriggling under the little mitts.

 Harry walked in, leaning over to look at her. "Christ... she's fucking beautiful," she said endearingly, despite the swear word. John smacked her arm with the back of his hand, giving her another look.

"Language, please," he said, even though he knew full well that the pup couldn't understand what was being said.

Sherlock smirked a little, though he agreed with Harry.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Okay with relinquishing her one last time?" he asked, looking over at his mother, who was waiting patiently in the background.

Sherlock looked from John to his mother, letting out a breath. He couldn't let his own mother hold her, so this was as close as he got. He sat up a little, letting out a breath. "M-Mindy..." he said, knowing that John had told Mycroft Katherine's name, knowing that his brother knew her namesake. "This is your granddaughter, Katherine Nicole Holmes," he said, holding her out carefully for her.

Mindy walked up, taking her granddaughter into her arms and bouncing her gently, running her finger across the edge of her cheek. She looked up at John, who nodded. Katherine Nicole. "Suiting name," Mindy murmured, playing with the pup's waving fist. "Yes, hello to you, too, little Katherine," she whispered, smiling down at her. "Bout time you came out of there. You were getting a bit big, weren't you, little one?"

John leaned against Sherlock, smiling while he watched his mother hold his daughter. "She looks more like you than she does me, Mum," he said, which was true and entirely unfair.

"That's just because she and I both have wrinkles," his mother said dismissively, making John chuckle.

Sherlock smiled, resting his head on John's shoulder. His mother would have held her, loved her even. He let out a breath. "She was getting big, yes," he murmured, looking down at his stomach, which felt so off now without her there. He sighed softly, watching Harry crowd her niece a little.

 "She really is adorable though brother, well done," she said, tapping Katherine's nose. Sherlock swallowed thickly, leaning back into the bed. He watched the three of them contentedly, twining his fingers with John's; he’d meant to socialise more but he ended up dozing off, snoring softly.

John chuckled down at Sherlock, stroking through his hair contently. "She looks like Sherlock," he said to Harry, though he smiled broadly.

"She's soft-spoken," Mindy murmured, walking back over and setting her in John's arms. "Must be another one of Sherlock's traits, hm?" She squeezed John's shoulder, smiling down at him. "You look exhausted, child."

John shrugged, holding his daughter gently against his chest. "I got a few hours of sleep. I'm fine," he lied easily, looking down when Katherine pulled on his finger.

Harry smirked. "Well get used to that, chances are little miss soft-spoken won't always be that way," she said, sitting at the foot of the bed. Sherlock shifted a little, stirring but not waking. Katherine cooed lightly, stuffing her mitt covered hand in her mouth, gumming it a little.

John laughed in agreement. "No, probably not. I just really hope she's not a colicky baby."  _Like Nicole was_. He glanced up at his mother and could see that she was thinking the same thing. He knew that it wasn't uncommon for pups to get colicky at some point, where the milk wasn't sitting right in them, or their stomach just wouldn't settle, but he knew that if that happened to Katherine, he would immediately assume the worst. 

Harry tapped Katherine's nose a little. "A lot of babies get colicky. She'll be fine," she said, looking over at Sherlock. "He looks knackered, so do you for that bit. You know she's got a cot... doesn't need to be held the whole time," she said, rubbing John's arm a little. Katherine cooed again, before her eyes shut again and she dozed off, her hand still in her mouth.

"I know she doesn't," John said quietly, but he didn't want to put her down. It was ridiculous, but holding her seemed to chase off his bad thoughts. He smiled over at Harry, leaning back against her a bit. "You and Clara are godparents," he said, almost as an afterthought, like it wasn't a surprise. "And Mum too, of course," he said, smiling softly up at them both.

Harry grinned, looking down at Katherine. "God, she'll be chuffed. I texted her, she's sorry she couldn't make it," she said, looking over at her mother. "Being a dad suits you, John, and you'll be brilliant at it," she said, looking longingly at Katherine, remembering talking to Clara about them having one. She let out a breath, smiling again.

"Thanks, sis," John said softly, shifting Katherine in his arms and shushing her softly when she made a disgruntled noise.

"I have to agree with Harriet, John. You look better with a pup in your arms. Suits you," Mindy said, and John beamed at her.

Sherlock shifted a small bit on the bed, pulling his eyes open again, his gaze moving to the cot by his bed. He blinked seeing it empty and sat up quickly before seeing Katherine in John's arms. He let out a breath, seeing Harry and Mindy still there. "Oh I... must have dozed off, sorry," he murmured, stretching a little. He held out his arms in question at John, smiling when Katherine was set down in them. "Hi there little one," he said softly, hoping only she heard.

He smiled, looking up when a nurse came in. "Time for the wee one's first shot I'm afraid," she said, holding a small syringe. Sherlock held onto her a little tighter in instinct, not wanting her hurt.


	3. Chapter 3

"Easy, love," John murmured, rubbing his hand over Sherlock's shoulder. "Happens to all of us. She needs it, or she'll get sick." He kissed Sherlock's temple, smiling a little when Sherlock loosened his hold and the nurse stepped forward, inserting the small needle into Katherine's arm. The pup immediately woke up, and the nurse withdrew the empty syringe before Kat could move the needle inside of her arm.

She let out a loud wail, but as soon as John put his finger in her hand and Sherlock soothed her a little with bouncing and soft words, she settled down.

Sherlock wasn't pleased, but he gently loosened his hold, allowing the nurse to pull down Katherine's pyjamas and inject the needle into her arm. Sherlock winced a little, stiffening when Kat woke up. Sherlock shushed her quietly, rocking her a little.

John raised his eyebrows, looking up at his mother and then over at Sherlock. "Well... hell," he said, more than a little amazed that she had settled so quickly.

Sherlock blinked as she settled in a minute, blinking a few times as she looked up at him. He smiled a little. "Sorry about that," he murmured, looking up at John. Maybe they could do this.

"Good lord," Mindy murmured, laughing. "You boys have got yourselves a miracle child, right there. That or she just really likes the both of you." She shook her head, setting her hands on her hips. "You just watch her when she starts crawling. Pup so quiet, she'll probably be into everything."

John chuckled, leaning down to kiss Sherlock's forehead. "She'll be well taken care of. I've already baby-proofed everything. And the kitchen is off-limits as soon as she's even slightly independent."

Sherlock looked up at Mindy, and then sighed. "That, and John set a ‘no dangerous experiments in the flat’ rule," he mumbled, shaking his head a little. Which had meant no more body parts in the fridge as well, since they'd be keeping her milk and then later her food in there. John let him keep his microscope out and such though. For now. Once she's walking... he sighed; he'd just have to go to the lab for those things.

"Can you really blame me?" John asked, his eyebrows raised. The whole conversation hadn't gone over splendidly, especially since Sherlock had been in a 'mood' that day, but he had eventually been able to put his foot down and convince Sherlock that it was better.

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes a little. Once she was old enough to know what not to put in her mouth he would re-evaluate the conversation.

Mindy smiled softly. "Good." She looked over at Harry, and then studied John for a little longer. "Time to leave, I think, Harriet." She walked over and gave John and Sherlock both small hugs, then walked over to the door to wait for Harry. "We'll be back later, but you," she pointed at John, "need to sleep."

Sherlock smiled a little when John's mother called him out on not sleeping. "Yes, you do," he said quietly, saying goodbye to Harry and John's mother. He let out a breath. "I like her," he said, scooting over on the bed. "You, up here, now," he commanded. "I'll put her in her cot when I need to sleep, but you need to rest," he said.

John groaned, but obeyed the order like a good soldier. "I'm  _fine_ , Sherlock. I don't need to sleep; I already got three hours today. That's plenty for me." He laid down on his back right away, but that just didn't quite work right, so he rolled onto his side, curling up against Sherlock. He watched Katherine waving her fist again, staring up at Sherlock and then turning her head to look elsewhere in the room.

Sherlock sighed, settling Katherine between the two of them. "I know why you don't want to, John. I'm not stupid, or pregnant anymore. I know, alright?" he said, looking softly at John. "Bad dreams are hard to chase away, but... in my experience, they slowly get replaced by good ones. There are good things in life, John, and now we have just one more," he said, gently bouncing Katherine. "Think about that... her. Your birthday present," he said.

"I'm going to start missing your pregnant self if you're going to be that observant again," John grumbled, looking down at Katherine, who reached up with her fist and set it over his lips.

"What? Don't like me talking?" he mumbled so as not to disturb her hand. She cooed, hitting her hand against his lips again and spreading out her fingers. "You're as ridiculous as your daddy, little one," he said with a smile, and then he lost her interest and she was off staring at something else.

 "Yes, Sherlock, alright. I'll sleep. Just... don't let me hurt her if I start having a nightmare." He looked up at Sherlock with pleading eyes, resting his hand over his chest, irritated that he couldn't feel his tags.

Sherlock let out a breath, squeezing John's hand gently before moving it to rest on their daughter. "You won't let yourself hurt her, John. Trust yourself more alright? A little more than a year ago I figured I would probably kill an infant if left alone with it for more than an hour. We'll be fine, and so will she," he said, pressing a kiss to John's forehead. 

"Yeah, well, you don't have violent PTSD-induced nightmares," John grumbled, but he closed his eyes and fell asleep anyway. He did have nightmares, he always did, but he didn't wake up, paralyzed by the pain in his shoulder and the images he saw.

\--------------------------------------------------------

They kept Sherlock at the hospital for quite a while longer than normal because of the bleeding, and both of them were going a little crazy. John had had to leave at some point, unable to just refuse working. Just over three weeks later, they were finally,  _finally_ , climbing the stairs of the flat. John unlocked the door and dropped the bag just inside it, automatically moving into the kitchen to start the kettle. He felt like absolute hell.

His nightmares had gotten progressively  _worse_  during their stay at the hospital, and right now he was running on three to four hours of nightmare-filled sleep every night, waking up just as tired, if not  _more_  tired than when he had fallen asleep. Sherlock hadn't noticed yet, thankfully. John didn't want him to worry. He had enough on his plate at the moment.

Sherlock felt like he was going crazy, but then he was also oddly content. He had Katherine, who seemed more and more alert each day. And he had John, who seemed... less so. Sherlock demanded another bed be brought in for him, though most of the time John still slept cramped with Sherlock on his.

Sherlock was carrying Katherine up the stairs to the flat, stepping into the familiar living room with a breath of relief.

 "Welcome home little one," he said, looking around and holding the somewhat bigger infant. Sherlock felt like she'd grown nearly an inch, but that was probably an exaggeration. He walked into the kitchen. "And look, there's your father, making tea. It's how he copes," he said with a small smile.

 He'd taken to talking to Katherine a lot, explaining things as if that would help her observe more. She'd been remarkably quiet. It almost had the nurses worried, but she made noise when she needed something, though as Sherlock soon mentally catalogued her various noises and cries, he usually knew when she was about to start crying. 

"I'm not  _coping_ ," John said, smiling over at Sherlock and, by default, Katherine. "I just want some proper tea. Not that awful stuff that the hospital serves." He reached up into the cabinet for the teabags, automatically making a cup for Sherlock, whether he would drink it or not. Old habits. He sighed as he poured some milk – Mrs Hudson had been shopping for them – into his mug and some sugar into Sherlock's. He didn't like lying to Sherlock.

"Look, love, you can have caffeine again," he teased, setting Sherlock's mug closer to him on the counter.

Sherlock smiled, taking the mug and sipping off of it gratefully. He picked up a small bouncing holder and set it in the middle of the table, placing Katherine into it. She couldn't move around enough on her own for it to be unsafe. He sighed, looking at John. "She’s finally home," he said, walking over to him and pressing a small kiss to his lips. 

John nodded, setting his hands on Sherlock's hips and kissing him back. "About bloody time, too," he whispered, smiling up at Sherlock and then over to Katherine. He rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment. "You seem awake. Mind if I sleep?" he asked, pulling back to look up at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded a little, kissing John in return. "Of course," he murmured. "You go get some rest; might join you in a little while," he murmured, kissing John's forehead and letting him walk down the hall.

Sherlock picked up Katherine, carrying her into the living room where John had set up a swing for her ages ago. He set her into it, buckling her in and turned it on low. He moved over and grabbed his violin, looking down at Katherine before flipping over his sheet music and starting to play the lullaby he'd written.

John moved into the bathroom, taking out the sleeping pills that he had written himself a prescription for. He'd been taking them for a while now, even though they didn't seem to be helping. He downed two of them in the bathroom, then walked into the bedroom, stripping down and pulling on some pyjamas. He crawled under the covers, passing out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 

_Man hunt. That's what they were doing. It was hot, and he was sweating. A quick check showed the rest of his team in much the same way. They were close now, though, the cave their target was camping in just ahead. John blinked, finding himself just inside of the cave, his eyes adjusting slowly. He recognised the man in front of him, but it didn't make any sense. "Sherlock? What are you...?" John stared, frozen, as Sherlock raised a gun and fired, sending a bullet through his shoulder._

 

John woke up screaming, his hand somehow wrapped around his gun. He was coated in a cold sweat and tangled up in the duvet. He closed a fist around his damp hair, closing his eyes and repeating to himself that it wasn't real.

***

Katherine had fallen asleep while Sherlock played, and Sherlock lost himself in the music; he hadn't been able to play in so long. Eventually he sat down in his chair, tending to his violin and keeping an eye on Katherine.

His head snapped up when he heard John scream a few hours later, and he leaped up, violin clattering to the carpet as he dashed down the hall and burst into the room. He put his hands up when he saw John holding the gun. "J-John!" he said, looking at him with wide eyes. "John... calm down, it's me," he said carefully.

John's hands tightened around the gun and his hair. He pulled his knees up to his chest, breathing heavily and shaking forcefully. He sobbed, though no tears came, just a huge, solid ache in his chest. Tossing the gun to the floor, he wrapped his arms around his head and made himself as small as possible, part of him still feeling the heat of the desert, the bullet in his shoulder.

As soon as the gun was dropped Sherlock lunged forward onto the bed, wrapping himself around John firmly and rocking him gently. "Shh... shh... John, it's okay, we're home... you're home now. Not there, never there, not again I promise," he said softly, peppering his face with kisses.

He held John close, still murmuring quiet soothing words, trying to bring John back. "John please... please come back to me," he begged, not understanding how John could have gotten so worse.

It took John a solid five minutes to come back, and when he did, he pulled out of Sherlock's grasp, panting and staring at him. He swallowed before curling back up against him, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist and holding him close. "I don't know... what's triggering this," he said between dry sobs, his shoulders shaking. "I just want it to stop."

"Shhh... John, it's alright, we... we'll find out what it is. Together, I promise," he said. He let out a breath, trying to think. "When... when did it start getting worse?" he asked. "In the hospital?"

John nodded, pressing his face against Sherlock's chest. "Not right away, though. Those were... those were normal. These started... the second week." He held on tighter, another tremble running through him. "They're getting progressively worse."

Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair, thinking to two weeks ago. "Okay well... what changed two weeks ago?" he asked. "Did you do anything different? Eat something... drink something more than I did? Any medicine or... something? Think, John," he said, hearing a wail from the living room.

 He pressed a kiss to John's forehead. "Two seconds, I'll be right back," he said, standing up and quickly walking into the living room, lifting Katherine out of her swing,

 "Someone needs a change then? Maybe something to eat?" he asked in what he prayed was a calm voice, gently bouncing the infant as he walked back to their room, setting her on the bed and grabbing a diaper and some wipes. He'd become a pro at this, looking up at John occasionally.

"Think, love. It's important," he said.

"I don't..." John shook his head, scrubbing at his face. Katherine was looking at him curiously, and he tried his best to pull himself under control. "I started working again. Uhm..." he furrowed his brow, trying to think. "I don't know, I prescribed myself some sleeping medication, which I'm thinking about switching out. It's not doing hell to help, but I could be immune to it." He had taken it often enough before. He looked up at Sherlock, lifting his shoulders helplessly. "That's it, as far as I can think."

Sherlock looked at him, finishing getting Katherine dressed again and scooping her up, sitting at the head of the bed and leaning against the headboard. He rocked Katherine gently before setting her in the groove between his and John's thighs. "What about lunch when you're at work? You getting that from somewhere? And you're not taking those pills anymore. I... I'll have Mycroft get you something. If it's from him we can trust it," he said.

"Sherlock, what do you possibly think is causing these? A drug?" John turned to look at him, resting his hand unconsciously over Katherine's small torso. She took one of his fingers into her tiny fist, pulling it up and down, a small grin pulling her mouth up at the movement. John would usually smile and possibly laugh along with her, but not now. "I can't just... stop doing everything because one of them might be giving me nightmares."

Sherlock sighed, looking down at them both. "Yes, possibly a drug. And it's not just nightmares John. I've seen it okay? I'm not blind, it's like you're slipping away from me, from us," he said, trying to stay calm.

"It's him. It has to be, he's trying to get under our skin, trying to get to me through you," he said, rolling out of bed and picking up the gun. "The safety is off, it's loaded, and you had it whipped out. You never did that with your regular nightmares, John, never," he said, putting the safety on and discharging the clip. "I'm going to put this away," he said, moving quickly into the living room and tucking the gun away safely. He moved back into the bedroom, sitting on the bed again.

"Sherlock, I'm fine, alright?" John held Katherine loosely, having picked her up when Sherlock had left. "I just need some better sleeping pills and it'll all be fine." He ran his fingers through his daughter's hair, trying to force the motion to calm him, but he was still on edge.

Sherlock let out a breath, looking at the two of them. Katherine whimpered a little, letting out a soft cry. Sherlock furrowed his brow a little, gently putting his hand over John's, and lifting Katherine up. "It's just like you told me. She can tell when you're agitated," he said. "Look, John, let me help you. You're not fine. You're not," he said.

John stared at Katherine and then up at Sherlock. "I  _am_  fine, Sherlock," he repeated, getting off of the bed and pacing into the living room. If he had been properly dressed, he would have walked out of the door. He stared around, lost for a moment, before walking over to the window and staring down at the street.

Sherlock sighed, gently rocking Katherine in his arms, soothing her. He couldn't take care of John if their daughter was screaming. He walked out into the living room, sitting down in his chair and unbuttoning his shirt, letting Kat latch on, she'd be fussing soon about being hungry, and Sherlock wanted to avoid that. He looked over his shoulder at John, waiting a moment.

"I'm here you know," he said softly. "I just want things better, John. I don't like seeing you like this," he murmured, keeping his tone neutral for Kat's sake.

John sighed, ducking his head down until his chin bumped his chest. He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath and turning around to look at Sherlock. "I know you're here," he murmured, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the window. "I'm not trying to be difficult, I'm just... angry at the world, I guess. I was getting better and now..." He let out a long breath, his hands working into fists in his pockets. "I've never had nightmares this bad."

Sherlock smoothed down Katherine’s amazingly soft curls with a small sigh. "I know John, I know," he said, looking up at him. "That's why I think it's something else doing it; you wouldn't regress this much otherwise. And it's not even regression, like you said, they’re worse than they ever were. Something has to be triggering it, something not you," he said. "You wouldn't be getting worse on your own with so much good in your life," he said softly, rocking Katherine more.

John walked over to his chair and sunk down into it, burying his face in his hands. He scrubbed his eyes, letting out a frustrated groan before dropping his hands and looking up at Sherlock.

 "Alright, what do we do, then? I can't stay home, because I have to work. I was already planning on getting new sleeping medications. I can start eating somewhere else – hospital food, maybe, instead of the cafe down the street."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, all of those things," he said. "Technically, John, you could request paternal leave, but I won't ask you to. I know you need your work. Mycroft can get your pills as I said, just to be certain. Whatever you think will work, and he'll get it. Hospital food is good, as long as you opt for anything that was made already that they would be serving for everyone. If it is him, he wouldn't draw attention to himself by doing this to all the hospital workers," he said, thinking.

 "I don't want to get all Omega homemaker, but... I could, make you something to take with," he said with a small shrug. "Hardly think I could burn a sandwich," he murmured. "And I'll have Mycroft and his people check that cafe."

"Okay..." John let go of a long breath. "But what the hell am I supposed to do about sleeping until I get the new pills?" he asked. "I need to sleep, Sherlock; I'm dead on my feet right now and worn down from the nightmares." He looked down at Katherine when she made a soft sound, hitting her fist against Sherlock's chest. He sighed again, standing and walking into the kitchen to make some coffee, hoping that the caffeine would keep him going for a few more hours.

Sherlock looked down at the infant, still suckling, but not drinking now, asleep. He teased her mouth a little, getting her to release him and set her down in her swing gently, letting it rock her. He strode into the kitchen, taking the coffee from John.

 "Stop, the caffeine won't make it easier. You know I can have something here in minutes, maybe not your pills, but something a bit stronger maybe, if you'd like," he said, wrapping his arms around John's waist and nuzzling against his neck. "I can have your pills tomorrow," he murmured.

John circled his arms around Sherlock's neck, pulling him closer and breathing in his scent. He combed his fingers up through Sherlock's hair, letting the motion calm him, if only a little.

 "Alright," he whispered. "Something to keep me awake. I don't want to sleep tonight," he said, burying his head against Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock sighed. "John, you haven't gotten any proper sleep in days." He murmured, combing his fingers into John's hair. "You need sleep, good, long sleep," he whispered.

"Christ, I know I do," John murmured, tightening his hold on Sherlock. "But I don't have a magical way of falling asleep, and I don't want to sleep if I'm going to dream. I don't..." he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you or Katherine. You took away my gun, but I've still got a knife, and even if I didn't, I know twelve different ways to kill someone with just my hands." He bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed, shaking his head.

Sherlock cupped John's face lightly, looking at him intently. "You're going to take me to the room, and give me all your knives," he murmured softly. "I'm going to text Mycroft, and I'm going to have him get your magical way of falling asleep," he said. "I've used it... you don't dream. I didn't, and that was when... well I was in a bad place, I'll leave it at that," he murmured. It had been when he'd practically been going mad from withdrawal and losing John. He hadn't slept in days, and Mycroft, his way of tough love, had made him sleep. "Alright?" 

John nodded slowly, turning his head to kiss Sherlock's palm. "Alright," he murmured, knowing what bad place Sherlock was referring to, even if he hadn't been here for it. "I'm sorry," he whispered, taking Sherlock's hand and leading him into the bedroom.

 He walked over to the nightstand and pulled out his utility knife, tossing it onto the bed, then promptly went around the room and took out three switchblades and a throwing knife. "There are others hidden around the flat – out of Katherine's reach, obviously. But I'm not worried about those."

Sherlock nodded, scooping up his phone and sending a message to Mycroft on his phone requesting the sleeping aide ASAP. He then picked up the knives, taking them and putting them away, outside of the bedroom. He took John's hand and gave it a small squeeze.

"Let's go out to the living room, keep an eye on her in her swing while we wait, alright?" he said, leading John out into the living room. "You haven't held me in ages anyway," he murmured.

John smiled a little sadly, following Sherlock out into the living room. His gaze softened when he saw Katherine, sound asleep and sucking on her thumb, her hair sticking up in all directions. He sat down slowly in his chair, holding out his arms for Sherlock, wrapping his arms around him once he was in his lap.

Sherlock smiled a little, looking down at her. "Need to get her pacifier out of the upstairs room," he murmured, settling down onto John's lap. He nuzzled close to him, resting his head on his shoulder. "It'll be okay. He won't win and this will go away," he said quietly, trying to help John relax a little.

John let out a tense, sleep-deprived breath and rested his cheek on top of Sherlock's head. "How big is his web, though? How far does his control go? How..." John groaned, tipping his head back against the seat. "How do we know that someone else isn't going to fill his spot and come after you, too?"

"I've thought about that already," Sherlock murmured, and he had. John didn't know, but Sherlock could really only see a few different outcomes, and there were really only two outcomes he could live with, one of them not being possible. Moriarty was too good to let it happen. "It'll be taken care of," he said quietly. "Mycroft's actually been useful; once Moriarty shows himself, we'll have him. He will go down."  _And me with him, if it keeps you both safe,_  he thought quietly. "Everything will work out," he said quietly.

"It had better," John grumbled, pulling Sherlock closer to himself and nuzzling against his hair. "It's kind of hard to raise our daughter together if we have to keep worrying about him." He pressed a lingering kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "I want the rest of my life spent with you, and I will gladly kill whoever it takes to get to that."

Sherlock nodded a bit. "And her... the rest of your life, and mine. We have her," he said softly. He looked over towards the swing, letting out a breath. "We won't have to worry about him forever. And if I can help it, you won't be killing anyone again. Ever," he said, tilting his head up to look at John. "That's not your life anymore."

John shook his head. "My life is protecting the two of you," he said firmly, his gaze wandering over to Katherine, who had turned her head the other way and was sucking on her index and middle fingers now. "I would do anything and everything to keep the two of you alive. Even if that meant killing more people." He looked back down at Sherlock and kissed his forehead. "You're all I have, the two of you."

Sherlock nodded. That was good, John counted her. Sherlock relied on that. Because if it came down to that option with Moriarty... he didn't want John to do anything stupid that would make Harry and Clara necessary as Godparents. He would come back if he did, he promised this silently to both of them.

"You're not allowed to leave me," John murmured and held Sherlock tighter still, sensing a shift in his behaviour, a change in his scent. "You are  _not_  allowed to leave me, alright? It's you and me, and now our daughter, too." He nuzzled against Sherlock's cheek, angling his head until he could reach his bondmate's lips.

Sherlock nodded again; damn John's perception. "I know that, I don't want to go anywhere, I'm not planning on it at any rate," he said, glancing up at John. "I just don't want you to slip away while either of us is still here," he said. He rested his head on John's shoulder still, only getting up when he heard a knock at the door.

 "That's for me," he murmured, going downstairs and thanking Mycroft's assistant for the medicine. He walked back upstairs, double checking with Mycroft to make sure it was from him. Once he got the text he smoothed a hand down John's shoulder. "Come on, bed," he said softly, moving over to pick up Katherine. "She'll rest in her cot, and I can read or something," he said.

John made a small sound of trepidation mixed with relief. He needed sleep, but he was fearful of what could happen. "How long does it last?" he asked, hoping for somewhere right around eight hours. He walked into the bedroom ahead of Sherlock, fixing up Katherine's cot and then straightening the covers on the bed.

"As long as it needs to, and it depends on how much I give you," Sherlock murmured, setting Katherine down in her cot and winding up her mobile. Sherlock had thrown out the pastel creatures it had come with and special ordered plush toys of different microbes. The colours were more engaging anyway.

 He gently pulled her fingers out of her mouth, only she moved them right back in, three this time instead of two. He sighed, smiling a little before turning to tend to John. He eased him back on the bed, sitting next to him, facing him and opening up the case. It looked all too familiar, a set of needles, only this time he was administering actual medicine to someone. 

"Sherlock..." John said, hesitantly and a little wearily. He had been expecting pills, not needles and a nameless clear liquid. He looked up at his bondmate, flickering his gaze between Sherlock's warm green-blue eyes. He let out a long breath, relaxing back against the mattress. "I trust you," he murmured, closing his eyes and rolling his arm over to expose the crook of his elbow. "Just don't give me too much. I don't want to sleep all that long."

Sherlock rubbed John's arm gently. "It's fine I promise. I double checked with Mycroft. It's safe," he murmured, prepping the needle and drawing out some of the liquid. Same as he'd had used on him.

He gently took John's arm and pressed a kiss to his inner arm, expertly inserting the needle and injecting John. He pulled it out and rubbed his arm gently. "There we go..." he whispered. ”You sleep now, my John," he murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead and cuddling close to him.

John took a steadying breath, his eyelids already drooping.  _Fast-acting_ , he thought to himself. "Christ," he breathed, "how much did you give me?" He rolled onto his side to get more comfortable, facing Sherlock as he quickly fell into a deep, bottomless sleep.

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John, pulling him close. "Enough," he said quietly. He swallowed thickly, glancing over at Katherine's cot. This wouldn't be easy, but if he played his cards right he could get rid of Moriarty and then get home to both John and Katherine. She'll never remember him being gone, and John... well Sherlock hoped he would forgive him.

\--------------------------------------------------------

John slept for an immeasurable amount of time, drifting through images both pleasant and... not so pleasant. Sherlock had said the sleep would be dreamless, and he was right, but John could still  _remember_  things. He woke up slowly and then quite rapidly, the sound of bombs and the threat of a nightmare pushing him into consciousness. He groaned, rolling onto his front and burying his face in the pillow to hide from the sunlight. 

_Sunlight_. John jumped from the empty bed and walked into the living room, looking over at Sherlock, who was playing with Katherine on his lap. "How long have I been out?" he asked with a small yawn and a stretch.

Sherlock had Katherine stretched out on his lap, her fists wrapped around two of his fingers as he recited little deductions about the living room to her. He look up when John walked in, smiling a little at him.

 "Last half of yesterday, all night, and then it's about nine in the morning now," Sherlock said. "Might have overestimated the dosage, but it's not an entirely horrible amount. Not too deep that you didn't still wrap your arms around me last night," he said with an affectionate look. "How'd you sleep? You might want to eat something by the way," he said.

John shook his head with a disgruntled expression. "Don't want food," he grumbled, walking into the living room and perching on the arm of Sherlock's chair, smiling softly down at Katherine. "Morning, little one," he whispered, reaching down to tickle her belly.

 "I slept alright," he said to Sherlock, turning to look at him. "Didn't dream but still... saw. Almost had a nightmare when I was waking up, but I avoided it." He leaned over to kiss Sherlock's temple, leaving his lips there for a moment.

Sherlock hummed a little, leaning against John and looking down at Katherine, who let out a cooing screech at being tickled. "Soon enough her noises will be more distinguishable," Sherlock murmured, tilting his head up at John.

"I like her indistinguishable noises," John countered, smiling and winking at Sherlock.

"We've already had breakfast, but maybe you'll feel up to taking lunch with us?" Sherlock asked. "How do you feel?" he added.

"Uhm..." John paused to think about Sherlock's question, taking quick stock of himself while he continued smiling down at Kat and occasionally tickling her. "A bit drowsy but really alert at the same time, like I didn't get quite enough sleep but tipped back an entire pot of coffee on my own. I feel a bit... unsteady," he said, settling on the word because he was unable to think of a better one.

"Kind of feel like I just had a seventeen hour shift in the med centre over in the desert and then went out and got pissed with my buddies, and then proceeded to sleep for three days. I don't know; it's a weird feeling, but I don't feel  _bad_."

Sherlock looked down, thinking. "Well, maybe not as much next time. Your regular pills are coming today; Mycroft actually said he'd bring them by himself. It's weird... him visiting. Think it's because of this little one though," he said, swiping a bit of drool from Katherine's chin.

"You'll have to work on that little one, drooling isn't a sign of intelligence, which of course we both know you have plenty of," he said.

"If there is a next time," John said, hoping not. He didn't like depending on medication, though he was still taking his depression medication when he needed it. Though, those were in his office at work, so he doubted that Sherlock knew about them. He reached down and lifted up Katherine, bouncing her up and down and swinging her around.

 "Don't listen to your daddy," he teased, kissing her cheek and smiling as she laughed and proceeded to wipe her drool over his chin. "I think drooling is cute."

Sherlock tensed a little as John lifted her so quickly, still cradling her head of course. "Um, she just ate so... be careful," he said, then realised what John said. "Don't encourage it! It's cute to a point then it's just..." he shook his hand a little. He sighed, smiling despite himself.

 "Lestrade said something about me being allowed on cases soon, guess Mycroft's giving me permission or something childish like that," he said, standing up and stretching. "I can start pumping some milk for her later... just for the few hours or so that I'm gone. Obviously when you're here," he said. He felt leery about leaving her; he'd always had her in his sights for almost a month now. But still, he knew it was unreasonable to  _never_  go anywhere.

John held Katherine still against his chest, letting her tug at his hair and play with his ear. He was uncertain about Sherlock going off on cases alone, but then he supposed that that's what he had done while John was away at war. He nodded slowly, bouncing Katherine subconsciously. "Just don't... don't be reckless. I want you to keep coming home at night."

Katherine made a cooing noise, and Sherlock smirked, picking up the rag he had on his lap and standing. He moved over and draped it over John's shoulder. "I know, I  _want_  to come home at night. And I'm not sure I'm up to running just yet. A crime scene, that's all. I go and see what I do, tell Lestrade who did it," he said, smirking again as Katherine spit up all over the rag a second later.

"I said not to bounce her too much, good thing I've memorised her 'about to sick all over father' noise," he said, picking up the rag and wiping her mouth.

John rolled his eyes, turning his head to kiss Katherine's temple. "Good. I'm glad you won't be doing all that much. You know I can't help but worry about you, especially now..." He glanced down at Kat to emphasise his point.

He sighed lightly, walking into the kitchen with Katherine cradled in one arm and starting the kettle. "I'm glad you've got something to do, though. Just mind my work schedule. I can't take too many days off."

Sherlock nodded. "I know," he said, following John into the kitchen and then opened up the hall closet that had the washer and dryer, tossing in the rag. Sherlock walked over and pulled out some tea (with caffeine, thank god) and mugs. He held out his arms for Katherine since John would soon be holding boiling water.

He took her up carefully, cradling her in one arm. Her fist closed around a portion of his shirt and he smiled. "She's quiet, but god, she's going to get into everything when she's able. I can just tell," he said, looking up at John.

"She's quite like you," John said by means of agreement, smiling softly down at her. "Might have to put a bell on her when she starts crawling," he teased, pouring hot water over the teabags. He picked up his mug, taking a long sip of it and smiling over the rim at Sherlock

"I work tomorrow, just so you're aware," he said, taking another sip. "Are you going to be alright here?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes playfully at John. "Bell sounds perfect; if I recall, my nanny did something quite similar with me. Put a key finder on me, I believe," he said, then shrugged. "We'll be perfectly fine. If anything urgent comes up, Mrs Hudson can watch her but... it would have to be pretty large. Not much would make me leave her without one of us around," he said.

John chuckled, sipping more of his tea and then walking back into the living room, carrying Sherlock's tea in his free hand. "I wouldn't mind something," he said, taking a seat in his chair, "but I'm overprotective like that." He winked at Sherlock, setting the Omega's mug down and holding his in both hands. "Which is a habit we are both going to have to break. She's going to have to make mistakes and learn from them."

Sherlock nodded a little. "Yes, yes, but we won't worry about anything too big for mistakes," he said, laying Katherine on her back on his knees and pressing her palms together, pulling them apart some. "You're going to do just fine won't you? Not much room for mistakes when you're already perfect," he said with a small smile.

 He slid off his chair and onto the rug, setting Katherine down on her stomach. She fussed a little, trying to lift her head and adjust herself slightly. "No, apparently tummy time is important, so you'll just have to get used to it," he said. Katherine turned her head slowly, John's foot grabbing her attention. Sherlock looked up at John. "I read it strengthens their neck and back muscles," he murmured, rubbing Kat's back a little.

John nodded, wiggling his toes to keep Katherine's attention focused, if only for a moment. "Can't wait until she's not so unstable," he said, moving so that he was lying on his stomach not far from Kat, slowly moving his hand across the floor towards her. She squealed and slapped at his fingers, causing him to chuckle.

Sherlock smiled at the two of them, seeing Katherine's uncoordinated attempts to try and grab at John's fingers. "Soon enough," he murmured. "Holding up her head, then eventually sitting up. Though that's at about four months on average. Her vision apparently isn't so good right now also," he said, thinking about the book he'd read when he'd been bored.

John laughed, playing with Katherine's hand and tickling his fingers up her arm. "You read more than any person I know," he said, looking up at Sherlock with a smile still firmly on his lips. "It's good, though. Because I don't know half of what you do. I'm good with emotions, but not so great with babies." He turned his attention back to Katherine. "I'll be you go-to person when you become an angsty teenager, alright?"

"John I referred to her as a squishy pink thing. Which is what she is, but still. She's simple now... easy. I'm sure you'll be needed far before she's a teenager," he said. He sighed a little, watching John play with her. "Though... you're doing really well now, I think," he said.

John looked up at Sherlock, a smile in his eyes now as well. "You think so?" He sighed happily, pushing back up into a sitting position. "And I don't think she's so simple. Give yourself some credit." He leaned across the small space separating them and kissed Sherlock's forehead, combing through his hair slowly.

Sherlock sighed a little, scooting over and leaning against John. "Maybe," he murmured. "And of course I think so. You're a good father. You hardly ever let her be set down in the hospital, made me let them give her a shot. Mind you I'm not looking forward to a couple weeks from now. They're going to give her four or so of them. And then again in two months. So many of them." he said quietly. He didn't like people shoving needles in his pup. 

"They're necessary, love," John murmured, kissing Sherlock's temple. "I don't like it either, but I don't want her to get sick." He wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist, tempted to pull him into his lap. He sighed heavily, resting his head against Sherlock's and closing his eyes for a moment. "I should go start lunch. What would you like?" he asked quietly.

"I know," Sherlock murmured. He sighed, reaching forward when Kat started fussing, clearly done with tummy time. He scooped her up, then thought a moment before shifting himself near John's lap, almost on it. "It's still early yet; hold us?" he asked quietly.

John smiled, wondering, not for the first time, if Sherlock could read minds. "Gladly," he replied, shifting and practically lifting Sherlock onto his lap. "Never thought I'd be more comfortable holding two people," he murmured, turning his head to kiss Sherlock's temple. 

"Hmm... Just wait until she gets older, see how comfortable you'll be then," he murmured quietly, nuzzling against John's jaw and pressing a few kisses to his neck. He sighed, relaxing into John. "I love you," he murmured softly. 

"I'll probably still try to hold the both of you," John admitted, leaning into Sherlock's touch, catching a whiff of his scent, which thankfully was back to smelling like his own. "I love you too," he whispered, kissing Sherlock's forehead.

Sherlock smiled softly, rocking Katherine gently. He ran his finger down her pudgy soft cheek and grinned. "She's so perfect," he murmured. "And smells like a little of both of us... and like her. And like a baby all at the same time," he murmured quietly. "It's odd," he sighed quietly. "I don't think I'll ever get over her," he murmured.

"That's a good thing," John murmured, nuzzling against Sherlock's cheek. He fully agreed with how perfect Katherine was, how wonderful and sweet and observant and so much like... well, mostly Sherlock. He sighed a little, resting his chin on Sherlock's shoulder. "I'm glad she looks like you and not me. You're prettier," he grinned, kissing Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock smiled a little, "You're more handsome." he murmured quietly. "And I still think she looks a bit like you. She'll grow into your nose," he murmured. "You just wait," he said with a grin.

“Oh, joyous day, my  _nose_ ," John teased, laughing and poking Sherlock in the ribs. "Alright, up you get, I'm going to go make us some lunch. Alfredo alright with you?" he asked, pushing to his feet and wandering into the kitchen.

Sherlock nodded, heaving himself up off the floor and giving Katherine a small swing. "Always," he said. "One of my favourites," he said, setting the infant into a bouncy seat that had a mobile attached. He wound it up after buckling her in and walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

John looked Sherlock over appreciatively, glad that he was back down to normal size, if a little squishier around the ribs and not so bony in the shoulders. "You're ridiculously attractive," he stated, putting a pot of water on the stove to boil and setting two frozen chicken breasts in the microwave to defrost.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself, shrugging a little. "You haven't seen me fully undressed since a couple weeks before she was born," he mumbled. He'd started doing some exercises to try and firm his stomach up a little since he'd been approved to. His stomach was all loose; he didn't like it.

John cocked an eyebrow. "So? Do you really think it matters to me what your body looks like? You'll always be the most beautiful man – most beautiful  _person_ – that I have ever laid eyes on." He walked up to Sherlock, wrapping his arms around him and leaning up on his toes to kiss him. "And it's still infuriating that I have to do this when I want to kiss you," he mumbled against Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock smirked a little. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll hit a growth spurt soon," he said with a grin. "That, or you'll just have to wait until I shrink from old age, though...you're older than me, so you'll shrink sooner," he said, leaning down to kiss John this time.

John smacked Sherlock's shoulder but didn't break from the kiss. He deepened it instead, tasting every corner of Sherlock's wonderful mouth and letting himself be tasted in return.

"Someday," he whispered, "I'm going to ask you to put that mouth to work." He leaned back, smiling cheekily up at Sherlock and winking at him before moving to take the chicken from the microwave.

Sherlock leaned into the kiss, humming a little, smiling against John's mouth. He watched John move over to tend more to lunch, smirking a little at the comment. "I'm surprised you haven't yet,  _Captain_ ," he said slyly. He leaned back against the counter, folding his arms a little.

John arched his eyebrows, glancing over his shoulder at Sherlock as he placed the chicken on the broiling pan and then in the oven. "Well don't tempt me now," he replied with a low laugh. "I'm cooking."

Sherlock smirked a little, glancing over at Kat's bouncer. "I have her schedule down. She was changed, fed, had tummy time. I'd say we have at the very least an hour. The most, two," he said, pushing away from the counter and stalking over to John. He cupped John's face with both hands. "You know, noodles don't take all that long to cook..." he said quietly, leaning over and sucking John's earlobe into his mouth. It had been far too long. "And I'm not sure I'm quite hungry enough for it," he murmured, nibbling on his ear.

 


	4. Chapter 4

# 

John sucked in a breath, leaning against Sherlock with a low moan. "Oh, Christ," he breathed. He forced himself to back off and turn the oven and the burner off so that they didn't set the house on fire, and then he returned, cupping the back of Sherlock's head and guiding him down for a kiss. "Bedroom. Now," he requested, already working on Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock grinned against John's mouth, grabbing John's hands and working the buttons off himself swiftly. "Yes," he murmured with a nod, quickly pulling at John's hand, stealing a glance at Katherine who was still asleep.

They had time.

He quickly led John into the bedroom, tugging his shirt off the rest of the way and quickly rounding on John to pull off his jumper. He put one hand over his stomach, kissing John in hopes of distracting him from it.

John made a small noise, hungrily kissing Sherlock back. He moved his hands down the Omega's sides and purposefully over his stomach, smiling against his mouth as he quickly worked the button and zip loose on his trousers. He left Sherlock's lips, trailing kisses down his neck and over his collarbone to his chest as he pushed his clothes off.

"Bed," he instructed, pushing Sherlock back until his knees hit the edge of the mattress. Once Sherlock was sitting, John efficiently stripped the Omega of his trousers and pants and tossed them away, nuzzling against his stomach, his hands splayed on his thighs, and immediately licked a line up Sherlock's length.

Sherlock quickly complied, sitting back on the bed and almost losing his breath at the quickness that John was stripping him down. He shivered and gasped a little as John's mouth moved down his body, and then up his length. "C-Christ..." he breathed, pushing himself back on the bed. He reached back over his head, fumbling blindly in the drawer.

"Don't," John said, his voice low. "I don't want her to wake up if we're knotted together. Trust me, just this." He swallowed Sherlock down, swirling his tongue against spots that he knew made Sherlock shiver. He sucked hard and then barely had any pressure at all. He moved up at one point, focusing only on the head and glans, tracing the tip of his tongue along the slit.

Sherlock heard a whine, and almost thought it came from Katherine, but he realised a second later that it had come from himself. He writhed a little on the bed, shivering a slightly. He wanted John... so much, but this would have to do for now. Another whimper came from him and his hips bucked a little, a gasp coming from him. John knew how to do this far too well.

"Pay attention," John murmured, running his moving lips along Sherlock's length. "You're up next." He licked up his length, circling his tongue around the ridge of the glans, and sucked him in again, his hand stroking slowly along the lower half, contrasting with his quick movements along the top. In a smooth motion, he swallowed him down all the way again, sucking hard and pressing with his tongue. 

Sherlock's head tilted back into the bed more and he groaned. How could anyone be expected to focus under these conditions? He whimpered again, a moan of John's name on his lips. Still, he was a quick study, and he would prove to John just how hard it was to pay attention. He shivered, right on the edge. "J-John.... I can't... _fuck,_ " he swore softly, almost... A moment later he let out a breath, feeling his body tense as he came, going limp on the bed a moment later.

John swallowed happily, humming as he pulled off. "Perfect. You are so perfect," he murmured, crawling and kissing his way up Sherlock's body. He nipped at his collarbone and nuzzled at his neck, letting him catch his breath. "So responsive," he praised, licking over Sherlock's mark.

Sherlock shivered, soaking up the praise happily. He hummed, wrapping his arms around John for a moment, nuzzling close to him. He smiled. "I love you..." he breathed, catching his breath a little. He rolled over, resting his torso over John's. He rested there for a moment, then sat up with a smirk. "Well, you got to enjoy seeing all of me at least.... Strip," he said, trying his hand at ordering for once. It felt out of place, but not entirely wrong.

John smirked, rolling over onto his back. He reached down unbuttoned his trousers, pulling them and his pants off and tossing them to the floor. "Good?" he asked, letting Sherlock take over,  _wanting_  Sherlock to take over. 

Sherlock watched John carefully, smiling more as John tugged off the rest of his clothing. "Enough," he said teasingly, pushing John's shoulders a bit more into the bed, mindful of his left one. He pressed teasingly slow open mouthed kisses down his torso, nipping at one of the pink buds of a nipple on his chest and trailing down more. He gently wrapped his hand around John's length, and then slowly licked a line up it, slowly mimicking John's movements from before.

John let out a long, breathy moan, arching up against Sherlock's mouth. "Oh, bloody hell," he breathed, combing his hands through Sherlock's hair. He'd never had this done to him before, never had any attention pay to him. Sherlock was doing a damn fine job.

Sherlock took John's entire length into his mouth, stroking him up and down quickly when he pulled up, only to push all the way down onto him, humming when he reached the bottom, knowing John could feel the vibrations. He smirked a little, pulling off and continuing to stroke John gently, leaning down and gently sucking one of his balls into his mouth, humming again.

John swore quietly, biting the heel of his hand to keep quiet. He moved his hips a little, making small noises that he hardly recognised as coming from himself. When Sherlock moved down to suck on his balls, he sucked in a sharp breath, arching off of the bed and clenching his hand in Sherlock's hair, letting out a long, low more.

Sherlock winced at the tug in his hair, only humming more as it felt so perfect. He gave John a sharp stroke up, followed by another, and then more in quick succession before swallowing him down once more. He pinched lightly at John's thighs as he moved his mouth along John's length, rubbing John's legs and up his hips, pinching teasingly at the flesh.

"Oh fucking hell." John closed his eyes tightly, overcome with sensations and harassments on his body. "Oh, Christ, Sherlock,  _please._ " Funny, he had never begged before, but now he found it to be the only option. He tugged on Sherlock's hair, arching his back.  _So…close..._

Sherlock felt a swell of pride that he was able to draw those noises out of his John,  _his_  Alpha. And people thought Omega's weren't good at things. He nodded a little under John's hand, tracing his tongue delicately around John's glans while stroking his shaft quickly with his hand.

John swore, his muscles tightening as he came, able to keep his knot down. He went boneless, making vague tugging motions in Sherlock's hair and on his arm to tell him to 'get up here; I want to kiss you,' but he was too breathless to actually say it.

Sherlock swallowed quickly, gasping a small bit at the grip in his hair when John came. He licked his lips, catching his breath when he felt the tug. He slowly crawled up towards John more, kissing up his chest lightly before collapsing practically on top of John, resting his head on his chest.

"You... the first person... to ever..." John tried to explain between sharp breaths. He eventually gave up, combing gently through Sherlock's curls and stroking his fingertips down his neck. "You're so perfect," he purred, tracing  _his_  mark on the back of Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock smiled, shivering a little under John's fingertips. He nuzzled closer to John, wrapping his arms around what he could of him. "Mm love you," he murmured, basking in John's praise. God it felt nice. He smiled. "My first time... wanting to," he murmured. "I wanted... make you happy," he said.

John smiled lazily, still basking in the high of his orgasm. "Christ Sherlock," he panted, gaining a little more control of his voice now. "You always make me happy, you wonderful person." He pulled Sherlock up a little again and sunk down, meeting him halfway for a long, drawn-out and somewhat sloppy kiss. "Thank you."

Sherlock hummed, smiling against John's lips before nuzzling his neck a little. They were there for several more minutes before he heard the beginnings of crying from the living room. Sherlock sighed. "Time for a change I guess," he murmured, sitting up and pulling on his dressing gown. "I think I've worked up a bit of an appetite," he murmured, smiling at John before walking down the hall to tend to Katherine.

John sighed, the sound turning into a laugh as he pulled on his own dressing gown and returned to the kitchen. He put the noodles back on to boil and the chicken back in the oven and started making Alfredo sauce from scratch. He moved around the kitchen, starting the kettle, and glanced into the living room, smiling softly at Sherlock and Katherine. God, how he loved them both.

Sherlock quickly changed Katherine and scooped her up, holding her head carefully. He looked over at John, smiling as he watched him bustle about the kitchen. "We're having some pasta for lunch. Though not for you little one. You wouldn't like it anyway," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead as the infant cooed.

"Couple years," John commented, draining the noodles and adding the sauce to them. "She'll be eating solid food before we know it, and then she'll be eating pasta and chicken and probably out-eating us," he teased, taking the chicken out when the oven went off. He quickly cut the breasts into thin strips and placed them over the pasta once he had dished it up onto two plates. "Here you are, love," he said, setting Sherlock's dish on the table.

"I don't know about years." Sherlock said, standing up and carrying Kat into the kitchen. "She should be getting her first teeth in about five months or so," he said. "So maybe a little over a year," he murmured, sitting down at the table. He stabbed up a bit of pasta and chicken, popping it into his mouth one handed, still bouncing Katherine gently with his left arm.

John finished making the tea, setting Sherlock's mug down in front of him before joining him at the table with his own food. "Bit of a scary thought," he commented, starting to eat. "They grow up so damn fast. I want her to stay little forever."

Sherlock looked down at Kat, who was staring up at his face as if there was something interesting on it. "It's not that I don't like her small... but I'm looking forward to teaching her how to talk. And having conversations," he murmured. "Watching her develop as a person. From a little thing that is only concerned about its own survival into a person. Aware of the world around her," he said quietly.

John smiled softly, watching the two of them closely. "You're an idiot for ever thinking you'd be a bad parent," he said, continuing to eat and still wearing a smile. He took a sip from his tea and then leaned back in his chair, suddenly comfortably full. He tilted his head curiously but shrugged, standing from the table and putting everything away.

Sherlock glanced up at John, taking another bite. He saw that John was done and shifted in his seat. "You mind taking her? Wouldn't mind having both arms to eat, and my left is starting to fall asleep," he said.

"Yeah, sure," John smiled, reaching down and lifting Kat up with a smile, "I'd love to hold the little one." He kissed her cheek and blew a raspberry on a strip of skin showing across her belly before settling her against his chest. "I'll be in the living room," he told Sherlock, running his fingers through his hair as he walked from the kitchen.

Sherlock smiled, taking another bite of pasta.

 As soon as John passed through the doors, he froze. Nothing looked quite right. It still looked like the living room... sort of... but it mostly looked like the desert, and when he angled his head just right, it looked just like a house where he had killed two men. "Sh-Sherlock..." he called, holding Kat tighter against him, not sure he could trust what his eyes were seeing.

Sherlock blinked when John said his name, stammering. He stood up, walking slowly over to John and seeing where he was looking. He didn't see anything, and focused his attention on John, running through everything in a matter of seconds. "John... whatever you're seeing... it's not real," he murmured. "Just, take a breath, and I'll take Katherine for you alright?" he said, slowly, gently trying to take the infant from him.

John blinked, and it was gone. He looked down at Sherlock's hands reaching for Katherine and shook his head. "No, it's fine. I've got her." He bounced her slowly, not minding when she grabbed at his ear. He looked back out at the living room, his eyebrows furrowing. "I guess I didn't see anything. Trick of the light or something." He kissed Kat's forehead and walked over to his chair, taking a seat in it and setting her on his lap.

Sherlock looked at him, moving over to his chair and perching on the armrest. "John... don't dismiss it. You saw something," he murmured, brushing one of Katherine's curls out of her forehead. "Her hair's getting longer," he mused softly. He was quiet a moment. "What was it?" he asked.

John looked down at Katherine's soft curls and smiled a little. He sighed, lifting his gaze and staring out of the window. "I don't really know," he answered truthfully. "Nothing specific. It just looked like the desert had been dumped into the living room. And..." he shook his head, bouncing Kat gently on his thigh, his hands steadying and supporting her.

Sherlock rubbed the back of John's neck gently. "And what?" he murmured quietly. "If you leave it buried in there it'll just get worse," he said quietly, leaning down and pressing a kiss to John's head.

John closed his eyes, not wanting to say anything, not wanting to relive anything. "If I looked at it kind of sideways, it... it looked like this home that I had booted into. Inspection, evacuation, whatever. I ended up killing two men with my hands. They were my first kills."

Sherlock let out a breath, scooping up Katherine gently and sliding himself onto John's lap, curling up and tucking his head under his chin. He pressed gentle kisses along his neck, nuzzling against his warm skin. "I'm sorry," he murmured, not sure what else to say. "Now it's out though," he breathed. "It's out and can't hide alone in there anymore." 

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, able to hold him tighter than he could hold Kat. He bit his lip, keeping down the tremble. "But there are so many others," he whispered, closing his eyes and nuzzling against Sherlock's hair. "I wasn't there for even a year and enough things happened for a lifetime."

Sherlock nodded. "I know," he murmured softly. "I know there are a lot, but we'll let them out... and let them go, one at a time," he said quietly. "Then they won't seem so heavy to you," he said quietly. "And someday they won't be all that heavy at all. Probably just in time for when this one will be getting heavy," he said, touching Katherine's cheek slightly. 

John swallowed, nodding along even if he wasn't sure he believed it. Part of him didn't  _want_  to let go of his time in Afghanistan, and that part of him was sickly enjoying these nightmares and flashbacks. "Sherlock, I... what if I can't let them go?" he whispered, glancing down at him and then away.

Sherlock blinked a few times, reaching up and cupping John's cheek. "You will John, someday. Maybe you won't even notice, but you will," he said quietly. "I promise..." he murmured, nuzzling against John's jaw. He sighed a little. "It's barely been a year. And I still think that someone is doing something to bring it up, because you were, and are, doing so well on your own. Don't doubt yourself, whatever this is, it isn't you," he said quietly. "It's him."

"How can this be him?" John asked, and he hated that his voice broke. Katherine looked up at him, recognising the voice pattern change. Instead of getting upset this time, though, she just reached out and placed her hand over his lips. The simple, innocent motion brought out the tears he had been repressing, and he reached out to run his fingers through her dark curly hair.

Sherlock let out a breath, peppering small kisses to John's face. "I don't know... we've switched out your sleeping pills now, and you'll be getting lunch either that everyone else is making, or you're taking it from home," he said quietly. "Unless there's something else, and please be honest with me John. Is there anything else you're taking? Or is there food you get from somewhere else?" he asked.

John scraped the tear streaks from his face with the heel of his hand, shaking his head when he looked back over at Sherlock. "No. There's nothing else." He leaned forward to kiss Sherlock's forehead, thinking about the anti-depression pills in his office. His locked office, in his very secure safe. No, nothing else.

Sherlock hummed, taking a breath in. He blinked his eyes a few times. Something smelled not quite right with John's scent at that. He met John's gaze, studying it carefully. He wasn't being honest about something, but Sherlock wouldn't press it now. He rested his head on John's shoulder, cradling Katherine against his own shoulder. "This will all be behind us one day... you'll see. Then it'll just be the three of us," he said quietly. And then adding, "Maybe four someday," trying to lighten the mood, brighten John's aspects for the future.

John smiled a little, kissing the tip of Sherlock's nose and jumping on the subject change. "I want a blond next time, so you had better work on that," he teased. "Boy, too, preferably. More your eyes than mine, though." He touched his finger to the tip of Katherine's nose. "Not that you're not perfect, Kat, but I can hope, can't I?"

Katherine had been dozing lightly, her mouth open in a small 'o'. Her nose crinkled a little when John touched it, smoothing out a second later. Sherlock smiled, then nodded. "I'll work on the hair bit," he murmured. "And I wouldn't mind a boy," he said quietly, amazed they were even talking about it, considering they'd just had one. But this was a couple years off at least. "I like the name Hamish," he said, looking at John. "He'd definitely have more you." 

John shook his head adamantly, chuckling softly. "I'm really not a huge fan," he said, knowing he had always wanted to change his middle name. "I'd rather call him James. That's the English version of Hamish." He leaned his head over against Sherlock's, closing his eyes. He didn't understand how he could be tired after sleeping for nearly twenty-four hours, but there it was. But damned if he wanted to sleep.

Sherlock stiffened a little. "We are  _not_  calling him James," Sherlock said firmly. "Hamish is the closest I'll get to that name, and that's only because it's yours," he said. "It would be like naming our son after... after  _him_ ," Sherlock said quietly, not wanting to disturb Kat. 

John furrowed his brow, the thought not really having crossed his mind. "Alright, fine, calm down. We won't call him James, then. I don't want to call him Hamish though. It's an ugly name. I've always liked the name Miles, but, you know, personal preference." He shrugged, barely stifling a yawn. _Dammit._  "Did Mycroft drop off those sleeping pills?" he asked, kissing Sherlock's forehead.

Sherlock relaxed against John a bit. "Sorry for being defensive, though I _like_  Hamish. Don't ever call it ugly, it's a part of you," he murmured. He let out a breath, then nodded. "He did yeah, this morning," he glanced at the clock. "Still a bit early yet. Just after three. Did you already want to go to bed?" he asked quietly, quite liking sitting like this, all piled up with each other. 

John made a noncommittal noise, rolling his eyes, though he was smiling. "It's fine," he murmured, nuzzling against Sherlock's hair and breathing in his scent. "I don't know, love. I'm drowsy, but I know it's still early. And the sleeping pills are only twelve hours or eight hours, depending on the brand..." he sighed. "I have to be up at five tomorrow," he murmured distastefully.

"Just like old times," he murmured quietly. "Probably want to go to bed around nine then. And I think they're for eight hours," he said quietly, still not moving from where he was. He pulled Katherine away from his shoulder, as some of her drool was dribbling onto his neck. He wiped at her mouth a little with a spare rag and stretched her out across his lap gently, rubbing his stomach as she cooed.

"Not quite like old times," John said fondly, reaching forward to softly comb his finger through some of Katherine's curls. He kissed Sherlock's temple gently, nuzzling against his hair and then down a little behind his ear. "I love you," he whispered, tracing his lips around the shell of Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock smiled, leaning against John a little. He hummed lightly. "I know... Mm love you too," he said quietly. He shook Kat's fists a bit as she started to doze a little. "Ah-ah, need you to stay awake little one. You nearly woke your father up last night. We're going to try and sleep a bit longer tonight aren't we?" he asked, catching her attention with a few of his fingers, which she promptly grabbed, shoving a couple of them in her mouth.

John chuckled softly, watching Sherlock playing with her. "It's fine, Sherlock. I don't mind if she wakes me up. It might even be a good thing, actually," he murmured, tickling Kat's side softly. "She needs her rest too. She's a growing girl."

Sherlock shrugged a little. "But you need your sleep too. For work, and not getting enough of it won't help things," he murmured quietly. He let out a breath, gently pulling his fingers out of Katherine's mouth, though she wouldn't relinquish them entirely.

"I'm a tough old man. I can handle it," John argued, though his heart wasn't really in it. He appreciated the fact that Sherlock was helping him get some sleep, something that he did desperately need. "I've had worse," he murmured, not wanting to deprive Katherine of what she needed to grow.

Sherlock smirked, bumping his shoulder against John's. "You're twenty-four years old," he murmured, looking up at John. "That's not old," he said, looking down at Katherine, who didn't seem like she was trying to fall asleep again just yet.

"Seems extremely old," John murmured, bumping Sherlock's shoulder back.

Sherlock sighed. "Why don't we move to the bedroom, and lay back there for a bit?" he offered.

"Yeah, bedroom sounds good," John said, steadying Sherlock as he stood and following him back into their room, lying down on his back.

Sherlock got up off of John's lap, cradling Katherine gently still. It would be easier to carry her when she could hold her own head in a month or so. He pulled John up by one hand with a small smile, and led them back to the bedroom, climbing onto the bed next to John, and laying Katherine down on her stomach on top of John. He waited until John steadied her with his hands before laying down on his side, draping a leg over John's and resting his hand over John's on Katherine's back.

John smiled, puffing up his stomach to move Katherine up and down, much to her delight. He looked over at Sherlock for a moment, pressing a kiss to his lips, and then another quick one before turning his attention back to Katherine. She balled her hands in his shirt, trying to push up with her arms.

"You're not strong enough yet, little one," he chastised softly, smiling softly.

"Soon enough," Sherlock said with a small smile, rubbing his thumb over John's knuckles. "She's already lifting her head. Just needs to work on keeping it up," he said, smiling as her head flopped back down, getting too tired to hold it. Sherlock sighed, resting his head on John's shoulder.

John rested his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes for a moment. He was content as he was, holding his daughter and with his bondmate at his side. "Doesn't get much better than this," he breathed, his lips curled into a smile.

He let out a soft grunt, looking up when Kat kicked him. "You're not strong, but a foot to the stomach still hurts," he said, moving her up a little farther.

Sherlock snickered a little. "If you can call that a foot, it's still really small," he said, rubbing her back gently. "And no… it doesn't," he murmured, nuzzling against John's shoulder. 

John chuckled, making Katherine squeal happily from how quickly she moved up and down. "You would know," he said, freeing up one of his hands momentarily to reach out for Sherlock's fingers. He hummed quietly, "I love you."

Sherlock smiled. "Well I think it's about time you got kicked in the stomach by her," he said with a wide grin. "Oh, and I love you too," he said, humming quietly.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand, letting out a sharp breath when he got kicked again. "Katty, I swear..." He moved his hands up to support her and lifted her so that she was in a sitting position on his belly. "There. That's a little better."

Sherlock smiled. "Her head, John," he said a little worriedly and reached up to support at Katherine's neck. She was doing pretty good holding it up herself, but he didn't want to risk it. She got tired quickly.

"I was getting there, love," John murmured. "I didn't want her body to fall while I was focusing on her head." He turned to smile at Sherlock and then flinched. "Hey, can you take her for a moment?" he asked, handing her over and then moving off to the bathroom.

Sherlock smiled, though it fell the moment Katherine was given to him. "John?" he asked, watching him get up and move into the bathroom. "Are you okay?" he called, sitting up and cradling their daughter to his chest.

John dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, holding his stomach. He felt like he was going to throw up, felt like he  _needed_  to throw up, but there just wasn't enough in his stomach. "Uhm..." he rested his forehead on the edge of the toilet seat, "I don't know."

Sherlock blinked, standing up and walking slowly into the bathroom. He let out a breath looking at John, perching on the edge of the tub, Katherine still cradled close to him. "Symptoms, now if you please," he murmured quietly, looking at John with gentle eyes.

John inhaled shakily, turning his head to look at Sherlock and furrowing his brows. "Feels like I have to throw up, but I can't. I'm getting kind of shaky, but that's just from feeling like I need to get sick, probably." He closed his eyes, letting out a small groan. "If this continues for much longer, I'm probably going to make myself throw up just to get it out of my system."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "I recognise the symptoms. You're going through withdrawal," he said, looking down at John. "Not as bad as heroin but still not good," he said quietly.

"Whatever it was you weren't eating or taking is leaving your system. You haven't been at work in a couple days, if it was food or... something else there, then it's starting to wear off. Your body's used to it though," he said quietly.

John gave a soft groan, holding tighter to his stomach as it rolled, but still nothing came up. "Sherlock... not helping." He knew what it was, of course he knew what it was. There was only one thing it  _could_  be. There was only one thing that Sherlock didn't know about. But he could take care of that on his own, he just needed to get to work to do it. And being clammy and wanting to throw up was not going to help with that. "Is there something I can take to make myself feel better, or should I just make myself throw up?"

Sherlock let out a breath; he wanted to reach out and hold John, but if he set Katherine down she would just get fussy. "John, throwing up won't help, your body only thinks it will. Just... try to breathe," he murmured. He didn't know what to say. When he'd been forced to go through withdrawal he'd been pretty much shoved in a padded room to work it out. "I don't... the only thing that will help is to take whatever it was that was inducing your PTSD. And that's not an option John." 

John made a small noise, pushing to his feet and padding from the room. "There are other medications that can help, though," he said, pushing his feet into his shoes. "Something to bring down the fever that's building and something to settle my stomach. Just need to go write a prescription." He reached out for his jacket, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock. "I'll be back in less than forty-five minutes, I promise."

Sherlock followed John down the hall, "John wait, it's best just to wait...” he tried. "It hasn't been that long, it would only last a day or so," he said, bouncing Katherine gently. 

"Sherlock, I need to work tomorrow," John argued, doing up the front of his jacket and stuffing his wallet and keys into his pocket. "I'll be right back, alright? Everything'll be fine."

Sherlock sighed, looking down. "Fine," he said quietly, rubbing Katherine's back. "Fine, go. Forty-five minutes though or... or I'm calling Lestrade," he mumbled, walking over to put Katherine into her swing. He scooped up his violin and plucked at the strings irritably.

John nodded, his eyebrows furrowed a little, and then walked out of the door. He quickly caught a cab to the small surgery, unlocking it and shutting off the alarm momentarily so that he wouldn't have the police called on him. He walked back into his office and pulled his anti-depression pills out of his safe, downing two of them. He sighed, hating himself, but he could find a solution before he became completely dependent on these – whatever they were, exactly.

With a small groan, he stood, writing himself a prescription for the medications he had told Sherlock about, both as an alibi and as a backup in case he went a few days without returning to the office. After locking up and getting the pills, he turned on the alarm and caught a cab for home.

 

***

Sherlock felt a little irked that John had left. He couldn't trust Sherlock to help him? He'd gone through withdrawal himself, and even then, Mycroft could help. And he could miss work; it's not like they'd be short rent. He sighed, plucking at his violin again, off key which drew a whine out of Katherine. Sherlock sighed, starting to play the lullaby he'd written months ago for her and which he frequently played for her now.

 

***

John's stomach stilled on the ride home, his body temperature decreasing. He leaned back in the seat, letting out a soft sigh. Christ, what the hell was he doing? What was in these anti-depression pills? Something that shouldn't be, that was for sure. He paid the cabbie when they pulled up, and he got out, quickly climbing the stairs with the bottles of pills in his pocket.

"Here," he said when he entered the living room, shaking the bottle of anti-depressants at Sherlock. "I wanna make a deal with you.”

Sherlock looked up when John entered the room, blinking a few times at the bottle. He furrowed his brows a little. "What are those?" he asked, taking them and reading the label. He looked up at John.

"You said you were only taking the sleeping aides," he said, looking over John's appearance. "You took them didn't you?" he asked, sighing. Square one. "What's the deal?" he asked finally.

John didn't bother lying, just went right into it. "I let you tinker with them, see what it is that's wrong with them. See what's causing me to..." he gestured around the flat, trying to incorporate everything that had been happening. "But you let me keep taking them until you figure out what it is," he said evenly, expecting an argument.

Sherlock was rolling the bottle of pills in his hand, examining them and looked up at John when he proposed his deal. "Absolutely not," he said, pocketing the bottle. "You're not to take another  _until_  I find out what's in them, and most likely not even after," he said, looking at John as if he'd just proposed something extremely stupid. "God knows what it is, what the long term effects are from continued use... no, you're not having anymore," he said.

"Sherlock, dammit, yes. I need them, and not because I'm dependent on them. I can't afford to be sick and completely out of it right now." John flexed his fingers to keep from balling his hands into fists. "Give them back," he commanded in his best soldier voice.

Sherlock shifted a little, the authority in John's voice almost hard to resist. He wet his lips, then shook his head. "You can afford it. Someone can sub for you at work, and my trust will take care of any expenses we meet," he said, setting his jaw, still sitting in his chair. "You can't have them," he said.

John narrowed his eyes and straightened. "I have to be functioning to protect the two of you." He lowered his voice, not threatening, but close. "Give them back or I'll take them back."

He didn't want to, he really didn't, but at the same time he  _did_. He wanted to feel that rush, that adrenaline high that came from wrestling someone, from dominating them. He wasn't sure if that was the heat of the moment or something a little darker in the back of his mind telling him that.

Sherlock's eyes moved over to Katherine, sucking on two of her fingers, asleep in her swing. He let out a breath, swallowing. John was making him feel... nervous. And it wasn't something he liked feeling from him.

"John, listen to yourself. You don't need them, and there are currently Mycroft's people following us. Watching the flat as they have been for months now," he said. "You can be out of commission for a few day’s time. We'll be fine. I'm not giving them to you," he said steadily.

John took a threatening step forward, pushing Sherlock back the same amount of space. "Sherlock. I need them. I'm not telling you again." He held out his hand palm up, staring steadily at Sherlock's eyes. He blinked, and those irises blurred dark brown. They swam back into focus slowly, but that muddy colour was always there. It unsettled the still-logical part of his mind, but that didn't seem to be in control right now.

Sherlock inhaled sharply, getting up out of his chair and taking a step back from John, and away from Katherine, not wanting something to knock her over. "John are you even listening to what you're saying?" he said, looking at him. He swallowed thickly, trying to give himself more of an authoritative stance, but it was hard enough against an Alpha, let alone _his_  Alpha.

"No, Sherlock. I just want the damn pills," John snarled, reaching forward and managing to catch onto Sherlock's arm. The unsteady momentum brought them both crashing to the ground and barely missing the coffee table.

He pinned Sherlock almost too easily, one forearm pressed just above his collarbone, the other arm reaching for the pills.

Sherlock winced as John's arm pressed against his collar bone, putting painful pressure where he'd been shot.

Something happened – either John fumbled them or Sherlock fought him again – and the cap came off, scattering the pills everywhere.

Sherlock tried to evade John and they both hit the ground, the commotion made Katherine whimper a little, and a moment later when the pills scattered everywhere she started to wail.

John swore, turning back to Sherlock in anger, only to see a frightened look on the Omega's face.

John snapped back to himself, horror washing over him at what he had just done. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, getting hastily to his feet. He was gone before Sherlock could follow him, forgetting his coat on the door.

When John sat up and whirled to look at him, Sherlock winced, half expecting from old habits and memories to be backhanded. He blinked a couple times when John got up and raced out the door, Sherlock's heart pounding.

He almost followed, but Katherine was screaming now, and he couldn't leave her. He composed himself a little, shakily picking up Katherine and trying to shush her, rubbing soothing circles on her back as he looked at the door, terrified for what was happening with John.

 

***

John stumbled blindly down the pavement, unsure of where he was going or where he could go.  _What the hell is happening to me?_

 He stopped for a moment, pressing the heels of his hands hard into his eyes, and leaned his back against a wall.  _Fuck_. He let out a slow breath and pulled one back in, repeating the process until he felt at least capable of walking. And then he did so, making his way to a pub down the street.

 

***

Sherlock finally soothed Katherine, setting her back into her swing gently and pulled out his phone to send a couple messages. 

 _He's gone out, something's wrong. Keep an eye on him, and make sure nothing happens_. _SH_

He knew Mycroft would take it seriously. Sherlock glanced over at their daughter again then back down to his phone. 

 _Please be careful. And please come home. I'd rather us figure this out together. Be safe._ SH

 

***

John forced his back to straighten before he walked into the pub, not wanting to look like he was already a mess. He walked up to the main bar, sitting down on one of the stools and ordered a shot and a pint, taking the first before he opened the text he had felt.

 _I don't trust myself around you right now. I don't think you realise. I almost killed you._ JW

 

***

Sherlock sighed, sitting down in his chair only to leap up after a minute to pace. 

 _Don't be stupid, you wouldn't have killed me_. _SH_

He let out a huff of air, pacing still. 

 _We'll manage this alright? We will, as in together. As in you'd better not be getting pissed in a pub right now because you don't know how it will mix with the pills._ _SH_  

 _Please_. _SH_

 

***

John groaned as he read the message, not for the first time wondering how in the hell Sherlock did that. He was already through his first pint and had ordered another.

_You don't know that. You don't know how far into my mind I was. I didn't even see you. JW_

_As for the drinks, it's a little late to stop that. JW_

 

***

Sherlock looked over at Katherine, her fingers closed around her other hand, as if she'd just discovered it was there. He sighed, lifting her up carefully and moving downstairs with her travel bag, along with some milk from the fridge.

 He knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door, asking if she could watch Katherine for a little bit. That John had taken ill and that he didn't want her to get sick. "If she gets too fussy I can come down and handle it," he offered, to which Mrs. Hudson said nonsense, she could handle it. Sherlock moved back upstairs, picking up his phone again. 

 _There will be a car for you when you're done. You're coming home when you’re done. No argument._ _SH_

Sherlock would have Mycroft's men drag him home if he had to. In the meantime he picked up all the pills, taking a few to start analysing and tucking the rest away safely.

Sherlock worked the sample as much as he could at the house, though he knew he'd have to go to Bart's for a while to be sure of his theory. He got up and prepped a few things around the flat, looking at the clock anxiously. His phone stayed silent, which he hated. He wanted to help John, and… god, the man wasn't making it easy.

 

***

John rolled his eyes at the text, already fairly pissed, though he had only had two pints and that shot. He didn't bother replying. Sherlock wouldn't take no for an answer, and John knew he wouldn't be in any condition to walk away from any of Mycroft's men should he try to not take the car.

 So he nursed another pint for an hour, paid the barman, and stumbled his way outside onto the pavement. He stared at the black car for a long moment before making his way over to it, pulling open the door and all but collapsing inside. He closed his eyes as soon as the car started moving, not wanting to chance the motion making him sick.

John looked up as the car slowed, clenching his teeth when his head spun. Christ, he had better tolerance than this. He thanked the driver when they pulled to a stop and then got out, fumbling with the key for a few seconds before he finally got it.

 As quietly as he could, he made his way up the stairs, hanging onto the banister to keep his vision from sloshing around so much. He almost didn't want to go into the flat, because he was afraid that he would go crazy again, that he would hurt Sherlock. He pushed through the door anyway, walking over to the sofa and collapsing lengthwise onto it.

Sherlock looked up from where he was working in the kitchen when he heard the door open. He waited a minute, making sure to get rid of the last few pills he'd been using in his samples. He looked out over at John, lingering on the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

"Thank you... for coming back," he said quietly, glancing over at Katherine's swing. It had only been a few hours and he missed her already. He would go down and check on her after John was asleep. 

"Shouldn't thank me," John said, his voice not coming through as clear as he would like. "S'not like I had a choice, did I?" He rolled over onto his side, giving Sherlock a good view of his back.

"I don't like hurting people, Sherlock. Least of all you. I shouldn't be here. I should be on the other side of the city." He let out a long breath, closing his eyes and folding his arms as well as he could across his chest.

 **“** Yes well I'm thanking you anyway, so sue me," Sherlock muttered, crossing the room to drape a blanket over John. "I'm working on a sample now, like you asked me," he said quietly, gently rubbing John's shoulder and perching on the armrest. "I have to go to Bart's to have anything definitive. I can figure it out though... hopefully before you feel you need more. Then I can... can know if it's a good idea. Or find something else you can take that will make the want go away, but won't trigger your PTSD. Then we can wean you off that," he said quietly.

John glanced up at Sherlock, wondering why the hell he was still so comfortable around him after... after  _that_. "You know, you're maddening," he whispered, reaching up for Sherlock's hands and weaving their fingers together. "But somehow I still love you. Wonder why that is." He smiled slightly, rolling Sherlock's hand over so that he could trace his finger along the inside of his wrist.

Sherlock hummed quietly. "Can't imagine why, though I have heard I'm a pretty good shag," he said with a small smile. "I shouldn't have antagonised you as I did; that could have been handled better," he murmured quietly. If he had made more of a compromise then it would have been better, telling John no like that in the state he'd been in... not his best idea.

John chuckled, though he stopped when he realised it was making his head hurt. "It's not your fault, you idiot," he murmured, closing his eyes again. "Is Katherine with Mrs H?" he asked quietly, considering falling asleep. He would wake up with a hangover, no doubt, but that would be fine. He knew how to handle a hangover, unlike everything else. "And you're going to Bart's?"

"She is, I needed time to think. Work," he said quietly. "And I was thinking about it yes," he murmured. He stood up, getting a large glass of water and bringing it back to John. "Sit up real quick and drink this. All of it please, you'll thank me later when your head hurts less," he said quietly, holding it out.

John pushed himself up into a sitting position, taking the glass from Sherlock and tipping back the water. "Thank you," he murmured, leaning back against the cushions. "I'll be fine, now. Probably just gunna sleep. You should go and get done what you need to." He reached out until he found Sherlock's hand, squeezing it gently. "I love you," he hummed.

Sherlock hummed, squeezing John's hand in return. "I love you too," he murmured. "Always," he said quietly. He ran his fingers through John's hair. "Sleep. I just need to run a quick test – two... three hours tops," he said quietly.

 He waited with John until the man fell asleep, getting up and crossing to the desk, pulling out a new syringe. He couldn't risk John getting a nightmare when he wasn't home, and with Katherine and Mrs Hudson downstairs. He walked over, checking John over. "No nightmares love..." he said softly, quickly injecting John with just enough of the medicine to keep him asleep for the rest of the night, and deep enough to where he wouldn't dream.

John didn't even feel the injection, but he recognised the change in his sleep patterns. _Oh, Sherlock, thank you._

 Sherlock pressed a kiss to John's forehead, covering him up with a blanket before going downstairs to visit Katherine for a few minutes, leaving for Bart's soon after.

 


	5. Chapter 5

It was four hours later when Sherlock came back to the flat, carrying a sleeping Katherine upstairs and setting her in her cot. He moved back out into the living room, sending his results to Mycroft, telling his people to look it over and confirm by morning, sending a less harmful substitute no later than midday. He moved out to the sofa, lifting John's head up and sitting down, resting his head on his lap and combing through his hair, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep.

John wasn't sure how long he slept, but when he woke up, there was sunlight coming in through the window and it hurt. "Buggering fuck," he mumbled, closing his eyes and burrowing his face against what he realised was Sherlock's thigh.  _I'm never mixing drugs and alcohol again._  

His stomach clenched unpleasantly and his head was pounding. Groaning, he wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist and held onto him, mumbling incoherent things.

Sherlock hummed lightly, his hand resuming its motions in John's hair. He himself was about half asleep, though that's as far as he'd allowed himself. Katherine was swinging gently in her swing, Sherlock had tended to her an hour or so prior.

"Morning," he said quietly to John, looking down at him. He picked up a glass next to him. "I got you more water," he murmured softly.

John pushed himself into a sitting position, though his muscles felt like jelly. "Thanks," he murmured, draining the water greedily. "What time is it?" he asked, his eyes falling on Katherine swinging peacefully across the room.

"Almost eleven," Sherlock murmured quietly. He looked at John, leaning forward to cup his face, checking his pupil dilation. He let out a breath. "Some kind of psychotropic drug. Mild, induces paranoia at first, though when regularly taken it seems to draw from one's subconscious," he said quietly.

"It explains why in the hospital you started being far more protective of us, and if I wasn't holding her, you  _had_  to be," he said. "That's how it starts," he said. "Which means he knew how to get to them. Though I've had Mycroft put more security into your office," he said, reaching over to the table and grabbing a new bottle of pills. "And these... should help wean you off the addictive effects, without triggering you further."

John took the small bottle from Sherlock, turning it over and reading the name of the drug – one that he had never heard of before. He nodded. "Alright. I'll go make some tea and toast. I don't want to take anything without having something in my stomach."

 He leant into Sherlock's palm for a moment before easing to his feet and walking into the bathroom first to brush his teeth, and then into the kitchen to start the kettle. He leant against the counter and scrubbed his face, trying hard not to think about what had happened last night.

Sherlock nodded, getting up after John and plucking Katherine up out of her swing. He sat down in his chair, arranging them both to cradle her in one arm as she ate. He glanced up at John worriedly every few minutes, dark rings under his eyes already forming from not sleeping, now for almost two days because the night before he hadn't slept much either, taking care of John and Katherine both.

John sat down at the table with his toast and tea when it was all done, taking an experimental bite and chewing it slowly. "You need to sleep," he said softly, looking up at Sherlock as he took a sip of his black tea. "Can't have you turning into me, where you're only getting two hours a night or less." He smiled gently. "I can watch Katherine for a few hours."

Sherlock rocked Katherine gently as she ate, blinking a few times. "You're sick and hung over... you need the rest," he said quietly. "I'm fine," he said, combing through a few of Katherine's curls, blinking a few times.

"You're going to get sick if you keep pushing your body," John replied, finishing his first piece of toast and taking a longer drink of tea. "Ask Mrs H to watch her for a little while, then. Please, Sherlock. Three hours is all I'm asking." He pulled the bottle of pills from his pocket and took two of them, feeling better now that he had something in his stomach. He still felt  _off_ , but not exactly bad.

Sherlock glanced over at the bottle, then back down at their daughter. "Two pills... once a day for five days. Then one for five days. Then half for three. Then they're out and that's it... should be weaned enough," he murmured quietly. Katherine eventually stopped suckling and Sherlock pulled her free, burping her gently. "And I'm fine," he said, standing up and pacing gently as he rocked her.

John opened his mouth to argue, had the words on the tip of his tongue, but after last night... Christ, he felt like shit about that. He rubbed his hands over his face, letting out a small sigh that sounded quite a bit more like a whine before standing and throwing away his second slice of toast and dumping out his tea. He brushed past Sherlock and walked back into the bathroom, stripping down and stepping into the shower. He let the hot water run over him for a long time, not reaching for the soap. 

 

_The water ran pink, tinted with the blood staining his clothes from all of the bodies he had carried from the field. Some of them he had killed, some of them he had tried to save. But now all he could do was try not to go numb as the water soaked his gear and washed the blood from it._

 

John jumped back to the present, gasping in long startled breaths. "Not real. You're not there anymore," he murmured to himself, dropping his forehead against the tiles and trying to forget about it all.

Sherlock glanced at the bathroom door a few times, waiting for John to re-emerge. He sighed, rocking Katherine still until she fell asleep, taking her and setting her down in her little rocker. He walked down the hall, hearing the shower.

It had been a little while anyway, he could use a wash, and Katherine would sleep for at least an hour and a half. He let himself in.

"John?" he asked, stepping inside. He tapped on the curtain. "Can I join you?" he asked quietly. "Are you alright?"

John started a little when he heard the door open, and he quickly pushed away from the wall. "I... um, yeah," John said, scrubbing his face with his hands before he pulled back the curtain. "Katherine fall asleep again already?" he asked, trying to make it look like he was fine as he watched Sherlock undress, but he knew he was probably failing miserably.

Sherlock hummed, nodding. "Out like a light, as it were," he murmured, climbing into the shower and taking John's face into his hands. He looked into his eyes. "It's okay... it won't be as bad soon. You won't be taking it anymore, it'll be fine," he murmured, pressing a small kiss to John's forehead, and then his lips.

John sighed lightly against Sherlock's lips, melting against him. "How the bloody hell do you do that?" he whispered, pulling back just enough to talk. "First you read me like a book, and then you barely say anything and all of a sudden it's all better." He set his hands lightly on Sherlock's hips, holding him still. "I love you," he breathed, kissing him again.

Sherlock smiled. "Just one of my many redeeming qualities," he murmured. He wrapped his arms around John, sighing softly. "I love you too... always, my John," he said quietly. He squeezed him a bit tighter. "I... I just wanted to help you," he whispered. "I want this behind us," he murmured, not thinking about the look in John's eyes when he'd pinned him. 

John almost broke down right there, circling his arms around Sherlock's waist and holding onto him tightly. "So do I. I-I don't like feeling so out of control. Like I could hurt you – for real next time." He shuddered at the thought, silently damning Moriarty to the very depths of hell. 

"There won't be a next time. We took care of that," Sherlock said quietly. "Alright? Promise," he said. "We take care of you, then we take care of him. Once he realises he's not getting through us... he'll show up himself. And he doesn't have his sniper anymore," he said quietly. He let out a breath. "Will you wash my hair?" he asked.

John wished he shared Sherlock's confidence, but he didn't say anything to contradict him. He hated the thought of Moriarty showing up again, but if that was what it took to get rid of him... then he guessed that was what had to happen. "Of course," he said softly, kissing Sherlock softly once more before reaching out for the shampoo.

He took his time scrubbing it into Sherlock's hair, massaging the tips of his fingers against his temples and lightly running them over his scalp before he withdrew. "Alright, you can rinse."

Sherlock hummed, leaning into John's hands. He rinsed quickly, then leant in to kiss John again, peppering kisses down his neck and onto his shoulder, down to his scar, his own only slightly above it, mirroring his. "I love you, always," he said again. "Always," he repeated.

"I know," John whispered. "I love you too. So, so much." He cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and lifted it so that their eyes were level. "You're going to bed after this. That's an order. Kat's not going to be hungry when she wakes up; I can take care of her." He leant forward to plant a firm kiss against Sherlock's lips before he reached behind him to shut the water off. "Come on, out you get," he said, pulling back the curtain.

Sherlock groaned, climbing out of the shower and towelling off. "I'm fine," he grumbled again, pulling on a dressing gown. "I've gone longer without sleep," he murmured. He didn't know why he refused to sleep, and he hated the thought that floated through his mind. He was scared. For John... for Katherine. What if Moriarty did something else? What if he did something more to John? He couldn't help if he was sleeping.

"I don't really much care," John said gently, steering Sherlock into the bedroom and pushing him down onto the mattress. "I can't actually make you sleep, but you're staying right there, so you may as well," he said, walking over to the dresser to pull on some track pants and a jumper. He smiled softly, crossing back over to Sherlock and kissing him gently on the lips. "Go to sleep, love. I can manage just fine by myself." And with that, he left the room.

Sherlock blinked a few times as he was gently forced down onto the mattress. "John I -" he was cut off as John left the room. He let out a breath, looking up at the ceiling, not hearing anything from the living room. He'd meant to stay awake, but within minutes he was unconscious. 

 

***

 

Katherine dozed for a little over an hour, finally squirming in her rocker a little with a small whine.

John smiled at the small noise his daughter made, walking over and gently scooping her up. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple and holding her against his chest. He bounced her as he walked upstairs to the nursery, changing her because he knew she would need it.

 He wasn't as good at this as Sherlock was, but he was damn close. He tickled his fingers along Katty's belly, delighting when she giggled and waved her fists. "Come on, let's go back downstairs." He picked her back up and returned to the living room, lowering himself into his chair and holding her on his lap, watching her as she looked around the room.

Katherine leant forward, flopping onto John's stomach and lifting her head to look around the room. Her fists closed tightly into John's shirt, tugging on it as she tried to push herself up, lifting her head and squealing when she couldn't, trying again.

John laughed, helping her out. "Not quite, little one. Couple more months and I'm sure you'll be terrorising us," he teased softly, lifting her up in the air above his head and then bringing her back down to blow on her stomach. "Be patient with it."

Katherine squealed again, her fists closing in John's hair, tugging at it a little as she shook her fists again, her feet pressing down on John's upper chest and bouncing a little. 

"Hey, see, there you go," John said, chuckling softly as he blew on her stomach again. "Don't be too loud, though, or you'll wake you're daddy. He needs his sleep, Katty, so be a good girl, please."

The infant wriggled, making gurgling noises as she blew bubbles with her spittle. She yanked at John's hair again, bouncing still.

She settled a fraction, her hands moving to hold onto John's head, patting his face with her open palms, bending forward to gum his nose, getting more drool on him.

"Oh, yuck, love," John laughed, leaning down until Katherine was on her back on his legs. He pulled back, wiping the drool off on his sleeve and quickly started tickling her. "Here, let's give you some tummy time, shall we?" he suggested, picking her up and setting her on the floor, lowering himself down beside her.

Katherine settled on her stomach, reaching out towards John, though her attention was soon being caught by a brightly coloured rattling toy a little bit away. She shoved her hand in her mouth, gumming it as she looked intently at the toy.

John followed her attention, turning back to her and smiling. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked, poking her side gently. "Go on and get it." He had his doubts that she could crawl yet, but he wanted to see how far she could get. He knew some babies could at least be rolling over at her age; perhaps she would figure that out.

Katherine reached out for the toy again, lifting her head up again though gave up after a minute, growing tired as something else drew her attention. She turned her head over the other way, blinking a few times as she looked across the room, cooing quietly. Eventually she rested her head on the rug, dozing again lightly.

John smiled softly at her, reaching out to brush his fingers through some of her curls. "Let's go join your daddy, shall we?" he asked quietly, lifting her up carefully and bringing her into the bedroom. He set her down on the bed beside Sherlock and then crawled in beside them both, lying on his side so that he could watch them.

Katherine stretched out on her back, shoving three fingers into her mouth and sucking on them lightly as she continued to sleep, undisturbed by being lifted. 

Sherlock hummed a little, rolling over towards the two of them as if sensing their presence. He took a deep breath in his sleep, hand traveling out blindly until it fell to rest on Katherine's chest, rising and falling with each one of her breaths.

He hummed again, the corner of his mouth quirking up fractionally as he curled his knees up, bumping into John's and all but surrounding Katherine between the two of them.

John smiled softly to himself, reaching out to stroke his fingers through Sherlock's hair. With a soft sigh, he closed his eyes. They all needed sleep, apparently, even if it was in the middle of the day. Humming lightly to himself, he drifted off, his hand now resting on Sherlock's hip.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock woke up to soft whimpers, blinking his eyes open to see John asleep across from him. He blinked, looking down at Katherine who was fussing quietly. He furrowed his brow; that wasn't her normal fussing.

He sat up, stretching a little and looking at the clock. Four hours... it would have to do. He picked her up, holding her close as she started to cry more. "Shh... Shh, Katty, what's wrong?" he asked softly.

John parted his eyelids, rubbing at them groggily. "Sherlock?" he asked, pushing himself up, instantly awake when he saw the concern on his mate's face. "Is everything alright?"

Sherlock was rubbing Katherine's back when she wailed loudly, and he sat back, trying to see if she would eat something, even though that wasn't her hungry cry. "I don't know..." he said, furrowing his brow a little.

The infant's fists flailed as she fussed, a high, almost scream coming from her. She never cried that loud. He cradled her, feeling her forehead. "John... she's warm," he said.

 _Bugger_. John forced down his panic. It was fine, everything was fine. Probably just a fever, not colic. "Here, let me see." He reached out and gently took Kat from Sherlock's protective hold, bouncing her soothingly as he walked into the bathroom. "No, you're not going to like this," he told her, though she was still crying and probably couldn't hear him, "but I've got to take your temperature, and the only way that's reliable is rectally."

Sherlock didn't want to relinquish her, everything in him telling him not to. Something was wrong, he had to keep her safe. He watched John carry her into the bathroom where her screeching cries echoed more. He blinked, shaking himself awake more and walking in after them. "What are you doing?" he asked, just wanting to hold her again.

"Taking her temperature," John replied smoothly, his inner doctor having taken over. He couldn't count how many screaming infants had been brought in with fevers that their parents thought were killing them, when in reality, they were just teething. "Mind holding her?" he asked, handing her over and reaching for the thermometer and warming it up in his hand.

Sherlock sighed, reaching out and holding her carefully. "Yes... this'll make her scream less," he murmured quietly, bouncing her gently. He ran through what he thought it could be in his head from everything he'd read.

"Too early for teeth... and colic usually starts at a couple weeks," he said, looking down at her. "Should... should we just take her in?" he asked, looking at the thermometer. "The petroleum jelly's in the cabinet," he murmured.

John reached for it, slipping some onto his fingers and then the thermometer. "Probably," he replied, easing off her bottoms and trying not to show how much he was worrying. "I just want to know how bad she is. Touch isn't accurate with infants." He eased in the tiny thermometer as quickly as he could, cringing as she screamed louder. Thankfully, these were faster as well as more accurate. He looked down at the temperature and swore quietly. "38.5 degrees. Yeah, let's go."

Sherlock held onto her tighter as her scream got impossibly louder. Sherlock hadn't been sure it could get that loud. Her little face was red and she flailed in discomfort. "Shh... Shh, babe, it's alright," he murmured, quickly getting another layer to bundle her up in before putting her in a carrier. "She'll be fine John... right?" he asked, quickly throwing on some clothes himself.

John swallowed, walking over and taking off the new bundle Sherlock had just put on. More heat was definitely not something she needed right now. "Yeah," he finally answered, nodding perhaps a bit too quickly as he swapped out his track pants for jeans. "Yeah, she'll be fine." Her temperature was far too high, though. Far too high. Doctors started getting worried if it even neared 38, and now it was at 38.5, and they hadn't caught it right away.

Sherlock lifted up her carrier. "We're going... now," he said, taking John's hand and practically dragging him towards the door. He forgot entirely about being tired, but they had a month and a half old infant who was feverish, and hurting. She had to have something hurting her because she was never this loud. 

"Fevers are caused by infections," John recited, seeing where Sherlock's line of thought was going as he pulled on his jacket and forced Sherlock into his own. He took Sherlock's hand again and pulled him down to the pavement, quickly hailing a cab. "The question is just  _what's_  infected."

The cabbie didn't look pleased that they'd brought a crying infant into his cab, but Sherlock barked at him to take them to Bart's and quickly. It was then that the man understood and quickly pulled away from the cab. He continued to try and soothe Katherine, and she eventually quieted down a little, exhausting herself though she still fussed softly.

 Sherlock looked her over, trying to think. The last few days... he'd been more worried about John, thinking he had everything Katherine-wise managed and memorised. Had he missed something?

John furrowed his eyebrows, reaching over to rest his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Hey," he said softly. "This – whatever this is – isn't your fault. Fevers are unexpected. They can just pop up. You didn't do anything wrong," he insisted, squeezing his shoulder gently and wishing he could comfort the both of them.

Sherlock let out a breath. "I know... I know that. Just perhaps I could have seen it sooner," he murmured quietly. He let out a breath, holding Katherine's carrier tightly in his lap. "But it'll be okay... probably just… an ear thing or... something," he murmured quietly.

John just nodded, not really knowing what to say. The cab pulled up outside of Bart's not long after and John paid, leaving a good tip as well as he hurried out after Sherlock. He led the way inside, telling a nurse behind the desk what was going on. She immediately picked up the phone and called up for a doctor, and they ended up lucking out, because Dr Maria was available. John thanked her over his shoulder as they made their way to her office as quickly as they dared.

Sherlock scooped up Katherine out of her carrier and handed the latter to John as they made their way up to see Dr Maria. She smiled when she saw them, though looking at the both of them she faltered a little.

"You two don't look half tired," she said, opening the door to an empty examination room. "What's the problem then?" she asked, patting the table for Sherlock to set her down. He didn't want to, but he carefully did. "She started crying... and has a fever," he said, looking at John.

John rubbed his eyes, setting the carrier down on an empty chair. "I took her temperature rectally. It was 38.5 degrees, and the device is brand new." He looked helplessly down at their daughter and then back up at the doctor. "I just don't know what it could be. She wasn't showing any earlier signs. It showed up within the time that I fell asleep, and for it to have risen that much..."

"Alright, both of you deep breaths," she ordered gently, moving over towards the wailing infant. "I know you just had your temp taken love, but I've got to check too," she said, pulling off Katherine's bottoms. She did that quickly, much to the distaste of the infant. She ran a check over her, looking at her belly button, and checking her ears.

"Doesn't appear to be an ear infection," she murmured. "And as for it popping up, she's quiet. Only letting you know when something was really wrong, probably was just quiet about it. One of the downsides of a soft spoken infant," she murmured.

John took Sherlock's hand, squeezing it in a ‘ _that doesn't mean you can be over-protective now’_ way. "Well she's too young to be teething. Theoretically she's too old to be colicky, but my sister..." He shook his head. "What is it?"

Sherlock returned the pressure, keeping it there firmly. "Hard to say, looking like it might be a bladder infection, but the only way to tell for sure is to get a clean urine sample, hard pressed to get one seeing as we can't really wait for her to go, and her skin could contaminate the sample." She said, looking over at John and Sherlock. "I can do a quick procedure where I insert a catheter and take a sample, takes about a minute, though she won't be too much happier about it. It's not terribly comfortable." 

John looked over at Sherlock, raising his eyebrows. "I'm a doctor. I'm assuming you know where I stand on this?" Anything to help figure out what was wrong with their daughter, he would agree to. She could stand a little bit of discomfort if it wasn't pain and it made her better in the long run.

Maria nodded, looking over at Sherlock. He shifted a little, his arms wrapped around himself, circles dark under his eyes. She'd been sick, for how long exactly? And now she was hurting, and was just going to be hurt more, and if he'd seen something sooner they could have fixed it. "I... can't you do it another way?" he asked, still holding onto himself.

Katherine wailed again, and John reached out to soothe her. Maria looked over at Sherlock gently, used to dealing with nervous parents. "Well, like I said, we could wait. But, honestly, if it is a bladder infection, she probably won't be  _able_ to go for a long time, and it'll be painful when she does."

Sherlock huffed a breath, and then nodded. Not happy in the slightest, but then he wouldn't be either way; Katherine was sick. "Alright... fine then just... can't you give her something to make her more comfortable?" he asked, walking over to cup her head, and pressed a small kiss to her warm forehead.

"Can't give infants under two months anything, even Tylenol," John said before Maria had to, letting her focus on what she had to do. She excused herself to go get everything she needed, and John turned to Sherlock, wrapping his arms around him. "She'll be alright," he said, pulling back to cup Sherlock's face.

Sherlock sighed, wrapping one arm around John, the other keeping Katherine secured on the table so she didn't roll off. "I know... just hate seeing her hurt like that," he said quietly. He knew if it was an infection she would be given antibiotics of some sort and it would sort her out in a couple days, but still.

John leant up, kissing Sherlock's cheek and dropping back down onto the balls of his feet just as Maria walked back in. "Alright, let's get this over with, shall we?" she asked, walking forward and setting everything up. She patted Sherlock's arm fondly before slipping the gloves on. "You just wait until her four year old shots. They scream like banshees for those," she said lightly, gently parting Katherine's legs and slowly inserting the catheter.

Sherlock let out a breath, knowing Katherine was due for four shots in about a month. He set John's hand down on Katherine's chest, because he couldn't stand to hold her down as Maria started. Katherine screamed, her small face pinched in displeasure as she flailed her fists. Sherlock tensed up, wanting to scoop her up right then and there. Maria finished quickly enough, putting a fresh diaper on the infant.

As soon as she stepped out to send the sample in for labs, Sherlock moved and picked her up quickly. "I'm so sorry Katty... just getting poked in all sorts of places today aren't you?" he said quietly, rubbing her back.

John set his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, rubbing gently with his thumb. "It's alright," he whispered, talking to Sherlock, but he leant forward to place a soft kiss to Kat's head. She was starting to run out of air to scream with, not used to crying so much. "Take it easy, baby. Hopefully that's the last time we have to poke you with anything."

Sherlock let out a breath, leaning in and resting his head on John's shoulder a little, scenting his neck. Trying to calm down more, not being calm wouldn't help Katherine. He took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, feeling his heart slow marginally. He continued to rub Katherine's back soothingly and in a few minutes her screams died down to soft fussing. Sherlock grabbed a tissue, wiping at her nose and sitting down.

 Maria came in a short while later. "Bladder infection, not really uncommon in little ones," she said, writing down a prescription on a pad of paper. "Head to the pharmacy and pick this up, 4 ml twice a day for four days, then once a day for three. She should be feeling better by tomorrow or so, but make sure you finish the cycle of antibiotics or it could just come back worse," she said.

John stood up and took the prescription from her, resisting the urge to wrap her in a huge hug. "Thank you," he said, picking up Katherine's carrier, because he knew that Sherlock would want to hold her. He led Sherlock through the door first and then led him down to the street, lifting his arm for a cab.

Sherlock kept Katherine cradled close to him, even after she fell asleep, having knackered herself out from screaming. "Pharmacy... closest one, I don't care which," he said to the driver when they climbed in. It was a better idea to go to a random one anyway now. Made them less predictable, and make it harder for Moriarty to do anything. "We're going to order out tonight," he murmured. "Not going anywhere," he said, resting his mouth atop Katherine's head.

John set his hand on Sherlock's knee, squeezing it gently. "Relax, love. I wasn't planning on going anywhere." When the cabbie stopped, John asked him to wait, and then he got out and trotted into the pharmacy, slipping the prescription over to the man behind the counter. He paid, quickly taking the antibiotics and slipping them into his jacket pocket as he crossed the pavement and slid into the back of the cab again.

Sherlock nodded, watching John leave. He looked down at Katherine, still cradled close to him. "I'm so sorry my Katherine... I should have known something was wrong with you before you started hurting... should have seen it," he murmured. "Maybe should have visited your Gran... she would have known," he said with a small sigh.

He looked over at John when he got back in, scooting over to rest his head on his shoulder. "When she's better I think we should go visit your mother," he murmured.

When they were both better, that was.

John smiled, leaning over against Sherlock's side. "You're rather fond of her," he said softly, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock's jaw. "I'm glad; she's a good influence." He ran his fingers softly down the side of Kat's face, watching her sleep.

Sherlock hummed a little. "Yes well... without her, I wouldn't have you," he said quietly. "Simple as that," he said.  _That and she'll be able to tell if something is still wrong with either of you when you've both had a few days to get better._  He let out a breath. "But yes... I am," he murmured. It wasn't as if he had a mother anymore.

"I'm glad. She likes you too," John said, linking his fingers with Sherlock's and squeezing his hand. He traced his thumb over his knuckles, familiarising himself with the bumps and dips again. "I can give Katty her antibiotics when we get home, and then you and I should have some dinner. And some more sleep sounds lovely too."

Sherlock shook his head. "I can't sleep," he said quietly. "I took care of you, I'm going to take care of her. She's sick... something else could happen; I... I missed it the first time," he said, looking intently at Katherine, cradled in the crook of his arm. "I won't again."

"Oh, love," John murmured, leaning over against Sherlock and wrapping his arm around him.

When the cab pulled up in front of the flat, John paid and got out, holding the door for Sherlock. He led the way inside and upstairs to the living room, shaking up the antibiotics and pulling some into the small oral plunger. "It's pretty thin liquid," he said, turning to Sherlock. "It should go down pretty easily."

Sherlock nodded, carrying her over to his chair. "Maybe she'll eat too... she's off schedule by two hours and all the screaming knackered her out," he murmured, combing through a bit of her hair to rouse the infant. He touched her cheek lightly by her mouth and she opened it up as if searching for something to suckle on. He felt horrible now... she was expecting to eat, not medicine. As if she hadn't had a hard enough day.

John felt just a pang of guilt as he inserted the medicine quickly and she swallowed it, fussing at the horrible taste. She quieted down when Sherlock started feeding her, though, and John gave a small sigh of relief. She could get better now. He walked over to the sofa, lying down on it and pillowing his head on his arms, just watching Sherlock with their daughter.

Sherlock had quickly tugged his shirt open and let Katherine latch on before she could start screaming, and her fussing quieted. He let out a breath, touching her still warm face. He looked over at John, wetting his lips. "How... how are you feeling?" he asked quietly. He knew he still had John to take care of as well.

John waved his hand dismissively. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me," he said, looking up intently at Sherlock. "I can take care of myself if anything comes up. You have enough to worry about." He smiled kindly at him.

Sherlock didn't comment that he couldn't do that well taking care of himself before, but he didn't say that; he knew that was just Moriarty. "I know... I just... worry," he said quietly, stroking Katherine's cheek. "You want to order out?" he asked, looking up at John again. "Maybe duck?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

John stuck out his tongue, rolling onto his back and fishing his phone out of his pocket. He made a call down to the Chinese place, ordering Sherlock some spring rolls and nothing with pineapple, and getting himself some chicken and broccoli with rice. "Anything else before I hang up, love?" he asked, looking over at Sherlock.

Sherlock shook his head; the chicken plate would do well enough. Mycroft tracked their phones, so he knew they'd ordered food from there, and would have it checked over. "No, that's it," he said, sitting back in his chair as he rocked Katherine gently.

John finished the order and hung up, setting his phone on the coffee table and closing his eyes. He let out a short breath, draping his arm over his eyes to block out the rest of the light.

Sherlock watched John for a moment, standing up after a minute to cross the room. He gently nudged John's feet up, sliding in under his legs and letting them rest over his lap. He gently pried Katherine's mouth off him as she'd fallen asleep. He cradled her gently before setting her down between John's legs, rubbing one of John's thighs.

John hummed, a small smile spreading across his lips. "You know, I'll never quite be able to wrap my head around it," he murmured, setting his hand over Sherlock's just because. "You've gone from an angsty teenager who hated the world and cowered from kindness, to being a mature and caring twenty year old with a daughter. And yet I can still see you as the same person."

Sherlock smirked. “No, now I'm just an angsty adult who still hates the world with the exception of my two people," he said softly. He rubbed Katherine's stomach lightly as she slept, her face still flushed with fever.

John chuckled softly. "I'll take it. So long as I get to stay as one of those two people forever," he murmured, his voice getting heavier with sleep, though he didn't feel quite ready to drift off yet. "What time is it?" he asked, pulling his arm away from his face and looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked. "You're at the top of the list currently; can't think of anyone that would boot you from the top two spots," he murmured, pulling out his phone. "A little after five," he replied. "Dinner should be here soon I should think, once it's been looked over," he said quietly, stroking Katherine's cheek again.

John smiled widely, wrapping his fingers around Sherlock's and squeezing tightly for a moment. He made a slightly disgruntled noise at the time, honestly tired and thinking that food was a trivial thing. "Alright," he murmured, closing his eyes again.

Sherlock sighed, squeezing his fingers back. "Look, just stay up until seven at least, we'll eat dinner, and then we'll all go to sleep early. This little one needs it," he murmured, rubbing her stomach again. She stirred a little, face pinching in a disgruntled frown before she settled again. 

John smiled softly and nodded, moving to set up. He pulled Sherlock against him, wrapping his arm around his waist and softly tracing his fingers along his side. "Love you," he murmured, kissing his temple and gently stroking a finger down the side of Kat's face.

Sherlock leant against John, picking Katherine up from John's legs so he could move more. He sighed, smiling softly as he rested his head against John's. "Mhm... always," he murmured quietly, looking down at Katherine.

John relaxed for a moment, just enjoying what he had beside him. When the bell rang, he eased himself off of the sofa and went down to pay for the food, bringing it back up into the living room. "May as well eat in here," he said, setting the bag down on the coffee table and retaking his seat.

Sherlock nodded, lifting Katherine up and walking over to her swing. He set her in, looking down at her and seeing that she was awake. "Hey there little one... still warm?" he asked, stroking her head gently. She looked up at him quietly, still not looking happy, but she was quiet at least. "You'll be feeling better soon enough," he murmured, winding up her mobile and moving back to the sofa and grabbing a box of rolls. 

"I'm glad she's a quiet baby," John said, picking up the rice and chicken with broccoli. "And that she's as intelligent as you and not as normal as me," he teased, nudging Sherlock and taking a bite of food.

Sherlock looked over at John. "John you are anything but normal... I don't think you are anyway," he murmured, biting into his rolls. He sighed, looking over at Katherine. "But she is quiet… yes," he murmured.

John snorted, eating more of his food. "Oh please. I'm the epitome of normal." He nudged Sherlock with his elbow. "You're brilliant. And I love you. And I'm glad you love me."

Sherlock smiled and bumped his shoulder against John's. He sighed, eating still, watching Katherine swing. "Do you think she'll let us sleep tonight?" he asked quietly with a small grin.

John laughed, leaning over against Sherlock and kissing the mark on his neck. "She might. She's usually pretty good about it. I won't give her another dose of medicine tonight, just because it's already so late, but she should be tired enough after she eats again. Especially after the day she's had."

Sherlock hummed lightly. "God I feel terrible about it... but at least she won't remember being so... invaded," he murmured, watching Katherine stare up at her mobile, swinging gently. She reached up and could barely swat at the small creatures hanging from it with her fingertips. She fussed a little, quieting down quickly though. "Yeah... suppose so," he said quietly, finishing up his food.

John nodded, squeezing Sherlock's hand and setting the rest of his food aside. "She's a good girl," he murmured, nuzzling against Sherlock's shoulder. "Kind of scares me for what she's going to be like as a teenager," he admitted, chuckling.

"You're of course skipping the bit where she's a toddler. I've heard it said easy babies are horrors as young children," he said with a smirk. He himself hadn't been too much of an exception in that regard. He nuzzled closer to John, resting his head in his lap and wrapping his arms around his waist.

John chuckled, rolling his eyes and relaxing back against the cushions. "Well, her two-year-old year ought to be very interesting, then, shouldn’t it?" he teased, closing his eyes and smiling to himself.

Sherlock hummed, glancing up at John a few minutes later. He blinked.

So much for staying awake.

He stayed snuggled close to his mate though, only getting up when Katherine started to fuss a little. He crossed the room and picked her up, settling once more on the sofa... well, more on John to feed and burp her. Eventually, though, he fell asleep as well, Katherine cradled in his arms.

John hadn't meant to fall asleep, but the next thing he knew, Sherlock was curled up on his lap with Kat in his arms, and it was late into the night. Smiling, he fell back asleep.

When John woke up in the morning, his neck was sore from sleeping like that on the sofa, but at least he hadn't had any bad nightmares. He lifted a still-sleeping Sherlock off his lap gently, getting up to go make tea. He popped some bread in the toaster for good measure, and then leant against the counter to wait for it to be done.

Sherlock settled back into the sofa, sinking into it slightly, Katherine still tucked in his arm. She cooed a little, waving her fists in the air as she woke up, demanding at the ceiling it seemed, that she be picked up. She fussed lightly when this didn't happen right away, which caused Sherlock to stir.

John walked back into the living room at the sound of his daughter fussing, lifting her up and bouncing her. "What's the matter with you?" he demanded quietly, walking back into the kitchen to finish up making his breakfast. "You know, for a quiet baby, you're really rather demanding," he teased, taking a bite of his toast.

Katherine's fists flailed and she wriggled a little in John's arms with a coo escaping her. She still had a somewhat disgruntled expression on her face, which was slightly warm to the touch still.

Sherlock hummed on the sofa, though he stayed asleep as he was catching up on it, the dark rings still prominent under his eyes.

John put a piece of toast between his teeth, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of milk for Katherine. He took a bite of the toast and set it down, kissing Katherine's forehead as he set the bottle in hot water and walked into the living room for her medicine.

 "Now don't throw a fit on me," he murmured, returning to the kitchen with the medicine and loading up the syringe. "Your daddy needs to sleep, okay? And I'll give you something to eat right after, I promise." He kissed her cheek and quickly gave her the medicine, bouncing her as he reached for the bottle and put the teat between her lips.

Katherine fussed as the foul liquid was put in her mouth, coughing a little and shaking her head. A cry started to build on her lips when the bottle was put in her mouth. She blinked, latching onto the bottle, one palm slapping the side of it. She cooed again, eyes closing half-mast as she ate.

"There you go, sweetie," John murmured, stroking her hair and running a finger down her cheek. He let her finish the bottle and then burped her, walking back out into the living room to sit in his chair and hold her, Katherine shoving her fingers into her mouth as her head rested on John's shoulder.

Sherlock rolled onto his side, still dozing. The hand that had been cradling Katherine flexed, moving a little around as if looking for something. He sat up then, blinking his eyes open and looking around and seeing John holding Katherine. He smiled, settling back down onto the sofa with an almost relieved sigh.

"Hey, love," John murmured, smiling over at Sherlock as he rubbed his hand over Katty's back. "You can sleep more, if you want. I've got her taken care of." He shifted his hold on Kat when she squirmed around a little bit, letting her look at Sherlock. "She's being good, go ahead and get some rest."

Sherlock smiled, letting out a breath and nodding a little. "’m alright... you're fine... both fine," he murmured, his eyes sliding shut again. He smiled a little, dozing off once more. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry for not updating yesterday. For a Sunday it was fairly busy since school will be out soon... here is a chapter for you lovelies to read though. <3

# Chapter Six

 

Things got better after that. John's nightmares went away, only popping up as much as they normally did, and then... less. Katherine didn't get sick again, save for a case of sniffles now and then, and a slight fever after getting her two month old boosters. She screamed like a banshee when she got those.

Almost too soon she was rolling over, then crawling. She wasn't crawling for long before she started standing, walking along the edge of the coffee table or the sofa while holding onto them. She wouldn't walk yet, though as long as she could stand... Sherlock knew she could.

Harry and Mindy would take Katherine every few months when Sherlock's heat cycle came, and they made sure to take precautions, both not quite ready for another, not with the threat of Moriarty still looming, even though things had been quiet on that front for some time.

 They went to Sherlock's parents grave... the next day going to John's friend’s after a breakfast of chocolate and coffee. Before Sherlock could even think about how much had happened in the last year they were a few days shy of Katherine's first birthday, and John's of course.

\-------------------------------------------------------

John chuckled, crawling after Katherine and pouncing on her, rolling her over and blowing on her stomach. She laughed, the sound turning into a rich, child-like sound and not so much the baby noises she used to make. Playing with her helped him to forget the haunting memories that had been chasing him since January. They were almost gone now, though.

 "Papa!" Katherine laughed, slapping the side of his head as he blew on her stomach again, rolling over and holding her above his head.

 "What should we do for her birthday, Sherlock?" he asked, looking over at him. "Marble cake, probably, with chocolate frosting, but... what else?"

Sherlock was draped on the sofa, thinking quietly as he heard the two of them playing. He looked over at them, smiling a bit as he sat up. That was Katherine's first word: Papa... John. He sighed a little, watching the two of them.

 "Sounds good to me," he said, looking at John. He wondered when she might say something else other than her main words: Papa, mil (milk), toy, and plus (please). He knew John tried to get Dada out of her, but it was something she just wouldn't say. He let out a breath. "It's your birthday too, though," he pointed out.

John waved his hand dismissively. "I've already had twenty-four of them. I don't need another. This is her first; it's important." He rolled back over, setting Katherine back down and sitting up, letting her stand up, using his shoulder to support herself. "Harry and Mum will want to be here. Mrs Hudson, obviously. We should invite Mycroft and Lestrade. He's been being evasive and stupidly smiley lately; I think he's got some good news."

Sherlock blinked, "Who? Lestrade? Because Mycroft is always evasive," he said, quirking his eyebrow. What news could Lestrade have?

 "Unless it's a triple homicide then I'm not sure I'd be interested," he murmured. He looked at Katherine, holding his hands out. "Come on Katty girl..." he tried, gesturing over to her. "You can do it," he said. Katherine wobbled on her feet, looking over at him and holding her arms out as if to be lifted up.

 "Uh!" she demanded, a determined look on her face.

"No, I'm not going to get up to get you, you come see me," he said. 

John smirked, setting his hands on Katherine's sides and steadying her. "Come on, sweetie, you can do it," he murmured, grinning as she took a step forward. "There you go," he encouraged, smiling up at Sherlock. "Come on, Katty, you got this." She took another couple of steps, and John loosened his hold until his hands weren't there and she was going on her own.

Sherlock smiled, watching her. He held his hands out more insistently. Katherine squealed, stomping her feet excitedly when John let go of her, a toothy grin meeting him. She took a few steps more forward, wobbling suddenly.

Sherlock stood up and steadied her, only having to take one step to scoop her up. "Well done!" he said. "Aren't you clever?" he praised, and Katherine giggled, her fingers closing on Sherlock's hair. 

John beamed like the proud father he was, laughing a little as Katherine giggled. "Such a strong little girl. Now, if we could only get you to say Dada or Daddy, I'd be completely content," he teased, standing up to hug Sherlock and kiss Katherine's temple. "Wish I would have videotaped that," he murmured, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock looked at her, smiling over at John as he held Katherine on his hip. "She knows your name though," he murmured. "Papa," he murmured, after which Katherine echoed it.

 "Papa Papa Papa!" she squealed, leaning away from Sherlock and reaching out for John. Sherlock sighed, handing her over.

"She'll get it eventually," he murmured.

John took Katherine, bouncing her gently and turning to nibble at her neck when she pulled at his hair. "I don't know why she's so fixated on me all of a sudden," he said, reaching out and squeezing Sherlock's hand. He stood on his tiptoes, kissing Sherlock's cheek and combing through his hair. "I'm working on it," he promised, yelping a little when Kat pulled his hair. "Hey now, that's mean. You're have to be gentle."

"She loves you," Sherlock murmured with a smile, seeing Katherine start to play with John's collar. She smiled, giggling again as she wriggled down out of John's arms to the floor where she crawled across the floor quickly to one of her toys, sitting down and playing with it. "It's a good thing," he said.

John cupped Sherlock's face, kissing him gently. "You've got that sad, faraway look in your eyes again," he murmured, brushing Sherlock's hair back from his face. He'd been noticing the look more and more often lately, and it really worried him. "She loves you too; she's just got your stubbornness."

Sherlock blinked a few times, eyes focusing on John's face. "No I don't," he murmured, looking across the room to the mirror. "That's just my face," he said. "I know she loves me. I'm fine," he said, tousling Katherine's raven curls; they’d gotten so long, they'd need a snipping soon.

John made a small noise, going over to kneel beside Katherine.

He'd kept track of how often Sherlock's phone had been buzzing with texts, and he wasn't as stupid as people made him out to be. "He's in contact with you again, isn't he?" he asked quietly, twirling one of Katherine's curls around his finger. He liked her hair long, liked how the curls tightened the longer it got.

Sherlock looked over at John, keeping his face passive. "I'm not sure I know what you mean," he said quietly, walking into the kitchen and starting some lunch; roast beef sandwiches would do nicely. "Bring her to her high chair?" he asked over his shoulder as he set out some cheerio’s on her tray, setting a couple jars of baby food on the table that he would feed her when she finished the cereal.

John sighed, picking Katherine up and bringing her into the kitchen, strapping her into her high chair. She attacked her Cheerio’s, stuffing them into her mouth and smiling up at John. He smiled back, ruffling her hair a little.

"You know what I'm talking about," he said, walking over to help Sherlock with lunch.

"Can't say I do," he said, putting some spread on John's sandwich. "What was that you said about Lestrade acting funny? I haven't noticed... but then if he'd be bothered to give me a damn case from time to time I might have," he said, forgetting to censor himself.

"Sherlock..." John sighed, stopping him and turning him around. He kissed him firmly, wrapping his arms around his neck. "I wish you would talk to me," he whispered, pulling away and walking over to feed some of the baby food to Kat, who greedily accepted it.

 "I do talk to you," Sherlock said, looking at John as he sat down. He finished making the sandwiches and set them down, wiping at Katherine's mouth. "You... are just making a mess aren't you?" he asked with a soft smile.

Katherine shook her head as Sherlock tried to wipe it clean, pointing a messy finger to John. "Pa!" she said.

 "Ah...don't blame your Pa, he's not putting the food all over your mouth.”

John smiled softly, booping Katherine on the nose. "You're just a greedy little girl, aren't you?" he murmured, handing the food over to Sherlock and getting up to eat.

"I think Lestrade's pregnant," he said, dropping the previous subject, though it was still nagging at him. He was going to get an ulcer from worrying so much.

Sherlock gave Katherine a spoonful of food, then a few more until the jar was gone and he took up his sandwich. "You really think so?" he asked, thinking. "Goodness... well, perhaps Mycroft doesn't know yet. If I don't, then... then he definitely doesn't. Good, yes, invite them to the party, I want to be there when he finds out," he said with a grin, eating his sandwich some.

"Yes, I really think so. Lestrade's a normal person, and that's how normal people react," John replied.

Sherlock blinked, and what... he wasn't a normal person?

He looked over at John, letting out a breath. "He's just teasing me is all... mostly riddles. I don't respond to them. He's trying to get a rise out of me," he said. "A couple of them lead to some of the cases I did a few months back," he said quietly. John wanted him to talk to him, he was talking.

John looked up when Sherlock suddenly switched topics. Taking a deep breath, he stared down at his food and finally just set it down on his plate. "Have you been responding?" he asked, glancing up at Katherine and seeing her watching him closely.

He sighed, glancing at John and Katherine. "I've just told you that I don't," he said, looking down. "I don't respond, I don't say anything, I've told you. He's just trying to get a reaction out of me," he said, feeling almost like he was being scolded. He didn't want John to worry was all.

John sighed, dropping his head in his hands and scrubbing his face. "I'm sorry, I just... fuck, and it’s been a year. Why is he doing this now?" He had a strict no swearing rule around Katherine, but he was shaking and couldn't have stopped it if he had tried. Katherine made a small sound and John reached out for her hand, letting her wave it around.

Sherlock shrugged. "He's been doing it for a few months now," he admitted softly. He looked over at Katherine, smiling softly. "I haven't been wanting to let it bother me. It's under control. We're safe, she's safe," he said with a soft smile. 

Katherine took hold of John's hand and squealed as she shook it. "Fu!" she said gleefully, mimicking sounds as she often liked to do. "Fu! Fu! Fu! Uck!" she squealed, bouncing in her high chair.

John groaned, biting back another swear. He looked helplessly at Sherlock, then reached over to pick up his daughter, holding her in his lap. "No, no, Katty girl, you can't say those words. Your papa shouldn't even be saying them." He bounced her a little on his knee. "If I here you say it again, I'll start taking away your toys, got it?" he asked, though he doubted she completely understood.

"Here, go to your daddy, alright?" He handed her over to Sherlock, standing up and walking into the bathroom. He still had some medication that he took for when he felt his PTSD rearing up again, and he took down the bottle now, shaking out a couple of pills into his hand and popping them back, dry swallowing them with a small shake of his head.

Sherlock couldn't help the somewhat suppressed smile that broke through as their daughter started a string of curse words, and then again as she nodded, clapping her hands on his cheeks and crying his name out. Sherlock took her, balancing her on his lap, bouncing his leg gently as he watched John get up. "Mind like a sponge she has," he called down the hall.

"I know," John said, smiling a little as he returned to the kitchen. He leant against the doorframe, watching the two of them. "It scares me a little, but it certainly doesn't surprise me, with you as her father." He walked forward, starting to put the dishes away and dumping the last of his sandwich. "I'll start sending out party invites here in a bit," he said, bending down to kiss Sherlock's temple as he made his way into the living room.

Sherlock sighed a little, still bouncing Katherine. "Alright," he said quietly. He finished his sandwich, Katherine stealing a pinch of bread for herself before he walked out into the living room, closing the gate to the kitchen. The door to the stairs was closed, childproofed as well since they didn't need her toppling down them. He set her down on the floor then; she couldn't go anywhere, corralled to the living room. He moved over and climbed onto John's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. "I love you," he said quietly. "So what's wrong?" he whispered.

John smiled softly up at Sherlock, his arms instantly wrapping around his waist. "Nothing, I just..." he looked down at Katherine and then back up at Sherlock. "He's back again. And he's texting you which means he's probably planning something." He rested his forehead against Sherlock's. "I took some of that medication again, because I could feel a PTSD attack coming on, and... yeah." He shrugged, trailing his fingers along Sherlock's spine.

Sherlock hummed, leaning against John. "I know... but it will be fine," he said. He hadn't been entirely honest with John, he had replied, a few times only though. He made it clear that John and Katherine – for Moriarty knew about her, having sent his 'congratulations' – were not to be touched. He knew that when it came down to it... he would do anything as long as they were safe.

Moriarty would go down, and if he went down with him then... well, they would be safe. He looked over at Katherine, watching her push herself to her feet, looking across the room at them sitting in the chair before thrusting her arms in the air, asking to be picked up, rather than walking or crawling across the room to them. Sherlock smiled a little, remembering asking John to get his phone out of his pocket once. She was like Sherlock then.

John followed Sherlock's gaze, chuckling. "Christ, she's just like you." He poked Sherlock in the ribs and then held his hand out to Katherine. "Come on, then, Katty. You can come over here yourself." He smiled when she gave a huff that was very characteristic of himself before she took a step and then another until she was supporting herself on the arm of the chair. "See?"

Sherlock smiled, holding his hand down to the front of the chair. Katherine squealed in response to John, stomping one foot and letting out a long string of babble as if complaining about the effort it took to cross the two yards across the room. "Yes, yes, we hear you, now come on over here if you want up," Sherlock said, waving his fingers.

 Katherine slapped her feet on the floor a little as she walked around the chair and hugged her arms around Sherlock's arm. He wrapped his hand and wrist snugly around her waist and lifted her up with one arm, depositing her on his lap. "There she is," he said with a smile. Katherine smiled toothily and yanked on Sherlock's hair a little bit with a squeal of laughter.

John laughed, tickling Katherine's sides. She squealed again, bouncing up and down and grabbing his nose. "We definitely need to work on your manners, you spoiled little thing," he teased, poking her nose with the tip of his finger.

Sherlock winced, reaching up and freeing her hands from his hair. "Manners are overrated," he murmured.

John sighed, leaning against Sherlock. "I love you both," he murmured, kissing the side of Sherlock's neck and scenting him.

Sherlock leant his head against John's as he scented his neck. "Mm love you too..." he said. "Always... both of you," he breathed.

"Once she gets my name down I have to teach her to say idiot at a picture of Anderson," he said with a smile.

John chuckled, taking one of Katherine's hands and one of Sherlock's, licking a soft line across his neck and nipping a bit possessively at his skin. "I'm sure she could figure that one out on her own," he teased, nuzzling under Sherlock's jaw and waving Katherine's hand with his gripped fingers. "I'll always love you too, I hope you know," he whispered. "Even when I'm mad at you, I never stop loving you."

Sherlock hummed, closing his eyes a little. He sighed, rocking Katherine, who was bouncing on his stomach. He let out a breath, looking at John and knocking his forehead against John's. "Give us a minute," he said, getting up and taking Katherine with. He wandered downstairs and knocked on Mrs Hudson's door. After spinning a quick story about a case that both he and John were needed on and how if she could just watch Katherine for a few hours and that she was about to take a nap anyway...

He was cut off, Mrs Hudson taking her happily. He smiled, walking back upstairs and slipping down the hall to the bathroom. He traced on some eye liner quickly, touching the mark on his neck lightly and shivered. He made his way out to the living room and behind John's chair, leaning down to press an open mouth kiss to John's neck.

John stared after Sherlock as he walked down the stairs with Katherine, but he just shrugged to himself and bent down to pick up the paper, starting to skim it when he heard the door open again and Sherlock disappear down the hall. 

He hummed at the lips suddenly pressed against his neck, immediately discarding the paper and reaching up to sink his fingers into Sherlock's curls. "So this is what you're up to," he teased, standing up slowly and walking up to Sherlock. His breath caught when he noticed the change – the ring of black around his eyes that pulled them out and made him look feral. "Fuck," he whispered, immediately walking up to Sherlock and pulling him down to his level with his fingers in his hair, devouring him in a kiss.

Sherlock hummed, pressing back deeply into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around John, smirking against his lips. "Well... can't very well give this to you on your birthday... what with the party and all," he murmured. "So… _Captain_ , what is it you want to do? After all, we're both gone on a very important case right now... could be gone all night. As for Mrs Hudson, dreadful thing about her hearing these days, have to be in the same room for her to hear you," he practically purred.

John growled possessively, pushing Sherlock back until he was up against the wall. He bit the Omega's bottom lip, making quick work of his shirt's buttons. "I am going to fuck you on every surface of this flat," he said, moving his lips down to suck hard at the mark on Sherlock's neck. He pushed the shirt from his shoulders, tossing it across the room and then scraping his nails down Sherlock's chest, running his fingers back up to pinch his nipples suggestively. 

Sherlock gasped as he was pushed back, surprised to find how much he needed this, wanting it. He hummed, wincing a little as John's nails moved down his skin, leaving light red marks. He leant into the wall with a moan as John pinched him, and he leant forward to kiss John's neck, nipping at him, almost threateningly; a challenge to his Alpha.

John pinched harder, pushing Sherlock's shoulders back against the wall none too gently. He pinned him with a look that left no doubt who was in charge, his fingers starting to work at the button and zip of Sherlock's trousers. He pushed them and his pants down, slowly moving his way down Sherlock's body, biting hard at every piece of flesh in his way until he was crouched low, nearly tearing off the rest of his clothes.

Sherlock met John's gaze, feeling the tug in his chest when John glared at him sharply, one that told him to back down. He hummed, yipping a little as John bit down his body. On their own his fingers weaved into John's hair, tugging a little, forgetting John's warning. His personality and his Omega self butting heads, apparently.

John growled, standing up and pulling Sherlock down for another intrusive kiss. He pulled at his hair, basically fucking his mouth with his tongue. His hand slowly wrapped around Sherlock's cock, giving it a few languid strokes. "Every surface," he repeated, pulling back a little so that he could quickly strip down, and then he was pressed up against Sherlock again, wrapping his hands under his thighs and sliding him up the wall.

Sherlock tilted his head back, moaning a bit before leaning forward and kissing John's neck, scenting him and nipping again at his neck. "Better get started then, Captain," he purred, biting a little harder.

"You keep talking like that," John warned, "and I'm going to make you ride me with your hands tied behind your back, and I'm just going to lay there." He bit Sherlock's neck hard and held tight to him as he walked into the bedroom, fishing for the bottle of lube without letting him down. He pinned him up against the wall again, holding him with his hips as he slicked up his fingers and pushed two inside Sherlock without pre-empt.

Sherlock whimpered a little, huffing a breath as he was practically slammed against the wall. He sucked in a sharp breath as John pushed his fingers up into him, his eyes fluttering shut as he tried to wriggle the best he could on John's hand, but pinned as he was... he couldn't. "You wouldn't...” he breathed, leaning forward to suck on John's bottom lip, biting it gently.

"Really?" John asked, hooking his fingers to rub hard on Sherlock's prostate, loving the way he writhed against him. "You wanna test that theory?" he threatened, moving his fingers faster, brushing against his prostate on every stroke until he added the third finger.

"Ah... _fuck!"_  Sherlock exclaimed, wriggling again, already feeling his firm erection pressed between them. He bucked up as best he could, trying to get some friction. "I... l-love tests normally..." he said, not able to finish his thought, gasping a bit.

"So do I," John growled, biting hard and sucking at the mark on Sherlock's neck to the point that he knew it was going to bruise. Sherlock was  _his_ , and no one else could have him, and  _everyone_  was going to know it. John withdrew his fingers, wrapping his hands around Sherlock's thighs again and carrying him over to the bed, dropping him down on it and immediately pinning him with his body. "I knew your mouth would get you into trouble one day," he murmured in Sherlock's ear, skilfully flipping him over and reaching for the soft rope he had stashed under the bed.

 

Sherlock winced, as John bruised his neck, humming at the same time. He reached up to wrap his arms around John, but was surprised by being flipped over. "Wait..." he said. "You didn't... distracted me, I couldn't finish," he breathed, feeling the rope wrap expertly around his wrists.

John tested the ropes, looking down at Sherlock lustfully. "You have thirty seconds to finish, then," he said, starting his mental countdown as he bent down and started lapping at Sherlock's stretched entrance, wriggling his tongue inside.

Sherlock gasped, his mind going blank for a moment, struggling to remember what he was supposed to be saying. "That... that's che-EATING!" he said, wriggling against the bed and trying to rut against the mattress for friction.

John just hummed, smirking to himself. "Fifteen seconds," he murmured, pulling back only to speak before starting to fuck Sherlock with his tongue again. He reached between them casually, stroking his length slowly, enjoying watching him struggle to recall what he was supposed to be saying.

"I... I don't... mmm... Fuck it all to hell, John Watson, you are..." he whined, writhing on the bed, his head a snarled mess as he dove into his mind palace and grabbing the first bit of information available, hoping to satiate the man. Without quite realizing he started to recite elements from the periodic table.

John laughed, pulling away from Sherlock and lying down on his back, easily pulling Sherlock on top of him. "Time's up," he said, lifting Sherlock's hips and steadying his cock beneath him, slowly pushing him down until he was fully seated in his lap. "Now move," he said, reaching up and pulling at Sherlock's nipples again.

Sherlock wined, twisting at his wrists a little. He moaned as he sank down onto John, blinking his eyes open, hissing a little as John tugged at his already erect nipples. He lifted himself up on his knees as best he could, rocking back and forth while doing so, trying to get that spot. He looked down at John, still partially in his head and wanted John to move, to do _something._  He whined, wanting,  _needing,_  to touch himself as he basically did all the work.

John grinned, reaching up to card his fingers through Sherlock's hair and pull on it. He knew that neither of them would ever get off like this, but that wasn't the point. The point was to make Sherlock do something so that he would keep himself in check. "That's right, love. Come on, you can do better than that," he said, following up with a quick swat to Sherlock's arse.

Sherlock growled a little at the tugging, yipping when the smack came. He moved more now, desperate, thrashing about in his head and trying to find things that would convince John to untie his hands, throwing out things his hands had been able to do before, what they could be doing now, hoping to entice him. As he was doing that though, all the while gently tugging at his wrists he came to another memory of his hands that completely threw him and he was slammed right back into it. His hands the day of the auction, bound roughly with coarse rope, digging into them for a day until they bled. Sherlock faltered in his movement, starting to tug more at his hands now, trapped in that moment in his head.

John noticed the change immediately, thanks to how closely he had been staring at Sherlock. One moment, he had been just trying to get loose, and now he was desperate, a nearly frightened expression on his face. John immediately rolled them over, covering Sherlock with his own body and peppering his face with kisses. He reached around and quickly untied the rope, tossing it to the floor. "Sherlock, love," he murmured, more than a bit concerned. "Come back and talk to me."

Sherlock brought his hands to his front, cradling them instantly like he had that first day when John had freed them, his fingers tracing over the light scars that one could barely notice there. He shivered a little, still seeing that day, the bright stage lights, and the kick in his ribs, being dragged off that stage. He followed that memory, as much as he didn't want to be there, not wanting to skip back to something before; he had to push forward.

Soon enough he was there, where he catalogued the first warm touch to his shoulder, and the voice he had to dig from his subconscious, not remembering it until months after he’d been taken from that place.  _Are you alright? My name's John. If you'd follow me, I would like to get you out of this place._  

It was then that Sherlock could hear John again and he surfaced from his head, opening his eyes and looking up at John. He let out a breath, reaching up and cupping John's face, leaning up to kiss him gently and wrap his arms around him.

John made a small sound of relief, running his hands over Sherlock's body, trying to still his slightly quaking form as he kissed him back. "Where did you go?" he asked quietly, kissing across Sherlock's jaw and then back to his lips.

Sherlock blinked a few times rapidly, letting out a breath. He didn't think he still had so many emotions tied to those memories, but then again, he never visited them. It was only in desperation that he'd accidentally stumbled across them. "I... I was thinking about my hands," he said. "You heard... trying to convince you to untie them," he licked his lips.

 "I guess the physical stimulus as well as clawing through my memories like that... It was the auction house," he said, still tracing his wrists gently. “That first day... bits and pieces but... followed one, to you. When you got me from the collections room," he said. "I never said, but I finally remembered it. All of it," he said.

"Oh, love," John murmured, sitting up and pulling Sherlock onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly. "Why didn't you ever tell me?" he asked, nuzzling against Sherlock's neck smelling a distinctly distraught tinge to his scent. His body reacted, throwing off calming pheromones as he continued to gently stroke Sherlock's back. "I'm glad you came back, though," he whispered. "I miss you when you leave."

Sherlock took a slow breath in, relaxing marginally as he shut his eyes. "I'll always come back," he said quietly, tilting his head up and opening his eyes once more to look at John. "You believe me, don't you?" he asked. "That I'll always come back to you?" he swallowed, trembling a small bit again.

It was easy now, his shakiness could be attributed to the flashback he'd had, and it was. But it was also due in part to what he knew he had to do... and he knew that was the most likely outcome. Best to control it the best he could. "Always," he breathed, as he often did.

John looked up at Sherlock, his eyebrows furrowed. He stroked his fingers gently through Sherlock's curls, leaning over to kiss him gently. "Of course," he replied, because saying 'no, I never know. I never know if you'll get lost in the mind of yours' was just not something that he could bring himself to say. "I love you," he murmured, brushing his lips gently across Sherlock's, rocking him slowly to try and calm him down.

Sherlock sighed. "I love you too," he said, leaning against John and resting his head on his shoulder. They were quiet for a little while, Sherlock curled up on John's lap. "Well... I ruined this, didn't I?" he asked, leaning up to kiss John's neck gently, and up his jaw. 

John shook his head, combing through Sherlock's curls and kissing his cheek and then down his cheekbone. "No, love, not at all," he murmured, holding him tighter. "You didn't ruin anything. I'm fairly flexible," he teased lightly. "I'm fine with cuddling or fucking. Either one will do." He kissed Sherlock lightly again, moving them so that they were lying down under the sheets.

Sherlock hummed, cuddling close to John. He pressed small, open mouthed kisses to his chest, tracing John's spine lightly with his hand. "Why not both then?" he asked, bringing his hand down to John's front and giving John's still slick member a gentle stroke.

John nuzzled against Sherlock's cheek. "Don't force yourself," he murmured, reaching down and stroking Sherlock's half-hard erection, bringing him back up to fully erect in a short period of time. He chuckled at the response. "You're ridiculous," he teased, twisting his hand and pulling a soft gasp from Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled, sucking gently on one of John's nipples. "I'm not... and I'm fine. I was in that place... and now I'm here," he said. "Simple as that." He reached down, taking John's hand as he rolled over, spooning himself against John's chest, nuzzling his chin with the back of his head and bringing John's hand over to hold over his chest like he always did. "And right here and now I want this... want you," he said, lifting John's hand for a moment and kissing his palm.

John hummed, nuzzling against the back of Sherlock's neck, nipping gently at his mark that was hidden there. "Demanding tonight, aren't we?" He teased, lining up with Sherlock's entrance. Biting down possessively on the mark, he slowly sunk inside, sheathing himself fully.

Sherlock purred as John nipped at his bite, humming and closing his eyes as he bit down a bit harder, pressing into him. He moaned a little, leaning back into his John, reaching back with his left hand to comb through John's hair, tugging it lightly. "A little," he breathed, feeling himself stretch slightly more around John.

"I kind of like it," John purred, laving his tongue over the mark as he slowly drew out and sunk back in, repeating the motion, except this time aiming so that he knew he would rub against Sherlock's prostate. "Gives me a good excuse to do this to you," he said, quickly snapping his hips against Sherlock, smiling when he hit that sweet spot and Sherlock reacted. "You're gorgeous."

"Only 'kind of'?" he asked, a humming softly, a moan coming from him when John's hips snapped forward. He moved a little in time with John's motions, the hand on John's slowly guiding it down. He wrapped his fingers, as well as John's, around himself, humming when the Alpha's warm hand took hold of him. "Mm… I know," he murmured with a small smirk, moaning again.

"Cocky," John murmured with a sharp bite to Sherlock's neck and a quick snap of his hips. He started a relentless pace after that, driving hard into Sherlock and jerking on his length with focus on the head. It wasn't long, with Sherlock's scent swimming around him and all of the sensations, that he felt the familiar tension building, driving him faster.

Sherlock couldn't even summon up a response to that, a moan coming from him as John's pace quickened. He gasped, feeling John's knot start to swell and he came right then, leaning back into John and almost crying out, biting down on his lip as his mind drew a beautiful white blank and there was nothing but John in that moment... no background thoughts or memories or worries. He let out a breath, panting.

"God, fuck..." John gasped, tightening his hold on Sherlock as he came apart. After just a few more thrusts, John pushed his knot inside of Sherlock, burying his face in his shoulder and letting out a long moan as he came. He wrapped both of his hands around Sherlock's waist, pulling him as close as possible, giving his mind a sense of peace that Sherlock was here, right here, and he wasn't going anywhere ever again.

Sherlock whimpered a little, leaning his head back and nuzzling against John's shoulder. "I... shit..." he breathed, his eyes closed. He hummed, holding onto John's arms with his hands, his fingers over the man's pulse which was slowly starting to slow down. "You're perfect..." he murmured.

John shook his head, kissing and nipping and licking over the mark on the back of Sherlock's neck. "No, I'm really not. But damned if I don't try for you," he said quietly, nuzzling against Sherlock's hair. He unwrapped one of his arms so that he could hold Sherlock's hand over his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart slowly melding to match his own. "I love you," he whispered, "so, so much."

"I know..." Sherlock breathed, squeezing John's fingers. "Mm love you too... always. No matter what could ever or will ever happen," he said, smiling a little. He would miss this... but he'd have it back. He would have them both back, just as soon as he was done. And then there was a chance... well, if he could stop Moriarty and not have to leave... all the better. But the chance was a small one.

A phone chimed, most likely Sherlock's, from out in the living room, but John held tight to the Omega. "They can call back. You're not getting off of this bed at  _least_  until my knot recedes," he chastised lightly with a small nip to his neck. He hummed when Sherlock settled back down, running his fingers over the Omega's chest and stomach.

Sherlock recognised the tone and sighed, nodding a little as he settled back against John. Moriarty could wait a few more minutes. He hummed lightly, smiling faintly. He jumped a little as John's fingers brushed past the scar from his stomach surgery, tensing a little. The spot was sensitive, ticklish as well.

John chuckled low in his chest, running his fingers over the scar again. "God, you're so sensitive. You have no idea how much I love it," he said, nipping at the shell of Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock whimpered a little, sucking in his stomach. "You're a cruel man," he murmured softly with a smile. He reached down and held John's hand so he couldn't tickle him further. He sighed a little, turning his head as much as he could to kiss at the corner of John's mouth he could reach.

John shrugged, turning his head to kiss Sherlock fully. "But you love it," he whispered with a grin, settling down and nuzzling against Sherlock again. A few minutes passed, and his knot receded, allowing him to gently pull out of Sherlock. "I suppose you're going to go run off with your phone, hmm?" he teased, poking Sherlock's ribs.

Sherlock sighed gently, rolling over and snuggling close to John. “Whoever it is can wait. I'm enjoying myself while I can before we're interrupted," he murmured gently.

John hummed, wrapping his arm around Sherlock's shoulders and pulling him closer. "Good. Because I'm not ready for you to leave just yet," he murmured, pressing soft kisses to Sherlock's forehead.

"Have to leave eventually," Sherlock murmured. He pressed a few gentle kisses to John's face. "I love this... you. I'll do anything to keep things this way... keep this safe, keep us safe."

John shook his head. "No you don't. You don't ever have to leave, and I don't ever want you too." He combed his fingers gently through Sherlock's hair, twisting a curl around his finger. "I love you, too," he murmured. "And you know that I would do the same."

Sherlock smiled. "I do have to leave eventually," he murmured, "Of course I meant the bed when I said it..." he said with a small smile. “Though if you insist we can look at the larger picture." 

John rolled his eyes, smacking Sherlock lightly on the shoulder and capturing his lips in a swift kiss. "You're such a smartarse," he murmured, tugging at Sherlock's hair. "Let's get cleaned up, and then you can go answer that call and we can cuddle for a little while longer before we need to go get Katherine."

Sherlock hummed. "Yes... I am," he said with a small grin. "Alright... we'll strip the bed first, then shower, then do you mind doing the bed up again while I check the call?" he asked, kissing John gently. He ran his thumb over John’s cheek, smiling at him.

John leant into Sherlock's hand for a moment, closing his and just breathing. Then he quickly gave his palm a kiss and got out of bed. "What are you waiting for, then, lazy?" he teased, already working at taking the sheets off.

Sherlock smirked, climbing out of bed and helping to strip the bed quickly. As soon as the soiled sheets were off the bed he smirked again, ducking into the bathroom and climbed into the shower quickly, turning on the water. He wet his hair down, grabbing the shampoo and held it out as soon as John stepped in.

John chuckled, taking the shampoo and scrubbing it into Sherlock's hair. “Such a demanding little Omega you are," he teased, leaning up to quickly steal a kiss from Sherlock before he backed off so that he could rinse. "But you know I love it."

“I am, and I do," he murmured, rinsing his hair. "Have to put those hands to work sometimes you know," he said with a smirk, eyes closed as he rinsed but he could just picture the expression John was making.

John stuck out his tongue and rolled his eyes, scrubbing the shampoo into his own hair. "Hey, shove over. My turn." He moved under the water, tipping back his head and rinsing out the suds.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes a little, gently brushing his fingers against John's star shaped scar. "Mm love you," he murmured, trailing his fingers down John's torso slowly.

John leant forward, brushing his lips over Sherlock's shoulder and the scar that mirrored his own. "I love you too," he whispered, humming softly as he tilted his head up to meet Sherlock's gaze.

Sherlock sighed a little, meeting John's gaze. He knew what Moriarty wanted... him. Sherlock had promised to meet him, just not when. He didn't want to hand himself over easily... but if the man grew too impatient... he wouldn't risk that. Sherlock looked down at his right shoulder, and the mark there. So many marks from and for and because of John. The scar on his side that had saved his life, the one on his shoulder that had saved John's. The ones on his neck that made him John's... always John's.

He smiled, looking at John again and kissing him, turning off the water. 

John kissed him back for a long while, running his hands down Sherlock's wet back and sides. He drew back after a moment, nipping at his bottom lip before stepping out of the shower and drying off before tossing the towel to Sherlock. "I'll go make the bed," he said, walking into the bedroom.

Sherlock hummed, nodding as he dried off. He wrapped his dressing gown around himself and padded down the hallway, almost dreading the message he'd find when he picked up his phone. It couldn't be time yet... just couldn't.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early for you all. Enjoy! <3

John pulled on a pair of sweatpants, slowly working at putting the sheets back on the bed. He heard Sherlock's phone ring again from the other room and shook his head, figuring that it was either Mycroft or Lestrade being annoying.

***

Sherlock walked over, picking up his phone and looking at it. No text messages, just a couple missed calls, though he didn't recognise the number. He sighed, glancing down the hall and calling it back, holding it to his ear and holding his breath as it rang.

***

"About time you called back," Moriarty said as he answered the phone, a little edge of danger in his sweet voice. "I've been getting terribly  _bored_  with all this dancing we've been doing." He paced around the plush hotel room he had rented for the week, holding the untraceable mobile to his ear.

***

Sherlock's stomach fell. "Yes, well, I was a bit busy," he said, letting out a breath. He glanced towards the room. "You know me... I have a life; so much to do," he said. 

***

"Oh, I know. Must be terribly  _exhausting_  fucking that handsome Alpha of yours." Moriarty tutted, walking over to the window and leaning his hip against the frame. "Of course I don't blame you. I'd be all over him, too, if he were mine.

***

Sherlock's grip was tight on his phone. The suggestion was one he hated. Moriarty was an Alpha, the thought of him with John...

"Well he's not," he said quietly, knowing John was still in the room. "Why did you call?" he asked, getting right to it.

***

"Oh, don't be so obtuse," Jim snapped, spinning around as if Sherlock was in the room with him. "You know well why I called. I want to meet you again." And just like that, his voice was sweet and child-like once more.

***

"Yes well our last meeting was... not the best," he murmured. He'd been shot, and had killed a man. He swallowed, letting out a breath. "Why can't you just leave it alone?" he asked softly, walking across the living room, further from the hallway and John.

***

"Mostly because I'm bored, partly because you fascinate me, and entirely because if you don't, I will take your precious  _John_  from you and turn him into my own personal fuck toy. And when he breaks, I'll discard him like all the rest." There was no doubt in Moriarty's voice. He had done it to Alpha's before, and he could and would very well do it again. "And you don't want that, do you, sweetie?"

***

Sherlock winced, letting out a breath. "N-no," he said, voice faltering slightly. "No I don't." He hadn't mentioned Katherine... was there a chance he didn't know? He supposed that was good. "If I go... you'll leave him alone? Leave everyone alone?" he asked. 

***

Jim hummed, leaning back against the windowsill. "Mm, yes. Your mate and your precious daughter. And your landlady and that useless DI as well, I suppose. But you come alone," he warned. "And believe me, I will know if you told anyone, and then all bets are off."

***

Sherlock let out a breath. "Let me... let me do a few things first," he said quietly. "When?" he asked, swallowing thickly. 

***

Jim paused, humming pensively – as if he actually had to think at all. "How does tomorrow morning sound? It better sound splendid, because you actually don't have a choice."

***

"Where?" he asked, feeling his heart sink. He'd get away, get out somehow and get rid of the monster. He looked towards the bedroom. John would never let him leave, though thankfully... he'd thought of that already. 

***

"Your choice, love," Jim said sweetly, walking back over to the bed to sit down on it. "Some place with a view, though, would be lovely."

***

Sherlock let out a breath, thinking. That would be best... and he could make arrangements even. He thought quickly, working it out in his head. That would work. "Bart's," he said. "View's nice this time of year," he murmured quietly. 

***

Jim snorted, lying back and staring at the ceiling. "How disgustingly sentimental of you, Sherlock. Eight a.m., don't be late," he said, and then he hung up, tossing the phone aside.

***

"I know," Sherlock said quietly to the phone, lowering it and standing up. He didn't have much time, it was already almost dark and he had a lot to arrange. He padded down the hall, leaning against the door frame, looking at John. "New case," he said quietly, looking at him. "Big... important," he said, putting a small smile on his face, though it was hardly convincing.

John looked up from where he had sat down with a book. "Better get dressed, then," he said, looking at Sherlock's dressing gown. "Need any help? I'm sure Mrs Hudson wouldn't mind watching Katty for a few more hours." He studied Sherlock's face for a moment and then sighed. "Yeah, alright, I know that look." He stood, walking over and pulling a shirt on over his sweatpants and then standing up on his tiptoes to give Sherlock a kiss. "I'm going to get Katty. Don't leave until I'm back."

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John though, not letting him leave as he kissed him again. "No.... No you're right; Mrs Hudson can keep watching her," he said, burying his face in John's neck and inhaling. He needed this, he needed this moment now. "Stay... you said you wanted to cuddle, and I don't have to leave right away," he said quietly, leading him back to the bed and dragging him down onto it. He wrapped his arms around John again, curling up close to him.

"Truth is," he lied, having formed this already. Because if this ended how Sherlock thought it might... then John would have to believe that Sherlock had another reason... or he might never let him go. And he had to, because if John didn't let go of him, he wouldn't be able to take care of Katherine... and he had to.

"That place... where I went in my head. I go there more than I would like. Especially more these days, I don't know why," he said quietly, making himself sound vulnerable, frayed around the edges. It wasn't that difficult to do so, really.

John was a little surprised to be dragged back to bed, but he didn't resist as Sherlock curled up next to him. He frowned slightly at what Sherlock was telling him, wrapping his arms around his slightly shaking form and holding him tightly. "Shh, love," he whispered, kissing his forehead and nuzzling against his hair. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, stroking his hand gently down his back. "I could have done something, helped you."

Sherlock swallowed. "I couldn't tell you... you were getting better. You are better," he said, letting out a breath. "I couldn't disappear while that was happening. So I stayed, tried to stay away from that place, but it happens more and more. I feel like I might get stuck sometimes," he let out a breath. "You do help me... you always have, I just... wanted to help you."

John felt a pang of guilt rip through him, but he didn't let it show. He held Sherlock closer, rocking him slowly and whispering to him about nothing. "It's alright. You're alright," he murmured, kissing his temple and down to his jaw. "You told me now, right? We can get through this like we always do."

Sherlock felt a lump in his throat, and he forced it down. "John... promise me... I... if I got stuck there…. If I wasn't... me anymore, I... you'd take care of her?" he asked. He needed to know. "Or if something happened while on a case, ever if anything happened to me you'd take care of Katherine. I don't care if I die from choking on a bit of food, you would right?" he asked, almost desperately. He had to know.

"Sherlock, yes, of course I would." John leant back so the he could see Sherlock properly, reaching up to cup his face in his hands. "Love, what's wrong? You never act like this." He leant forward and kissed him sweetly. "What's this case you're doing? What about it has you so scared?" he asked, genuinely worried now.

Sherlock shook his head. "I... I can't," he said. "It's not the case, I just..." he sighed.

"I... I'll try and explain, I... tea?" he asked, sitting up. "I need to make tea... I just... need a minute," he said, getting up and striding down the hall to the kitchen.

John didn't follow, allowing Sherlock some time to do whatever it was he thought he needed to. Collect himself? He shook his head, not used to seeing Sherlock like this, and it unsettled him. He moved to a sitting position, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he waited for Sherlock to come back.

Sherlock hated this, but it had to be done. He made their tea, pausing a moment before slipping the sedative he'd hidden in the kitchen into John's tea. It tore his heart out of his chest to do it, but he had to. To protect John, and to make sure he didn't follow Sherlock, or stop him all together. It was enough... John would wake up in the morning... right on schedule no doubt to follow him, once the stage was set.

 He would send few texts, having some of his network on hand to intercept him should something go differently. Then he walked down the hall, climbing back into bed and handing John his tea. "Ask anything," he said. He knew the sedative wouldn't take long to act, and he would see the signs.

John held the mug between his hands for a moment, just staring down at the light liquid. He sighed, finally taking a sip. "Are you alright? Truly, honestly. I want to know." He took another sip, watching Sherlock carefully before coming up with a better question. "That was Moriarty on the phone, wasn't it?"

"I... I don't know," Sherlock said quietly. "I don't feel okay sometimes... what we did just before that... was perfect save for going to that place," he said quietly. He relaxed a little when John drank some of his tea; it was done then. Two minutes max. "Just another riddle," he said quietly. "One of the messages was, anyway... the call was, wrong number," he said quietly. He swallowed, leaning over and pressing a kiss to John's cheek. "I love you." 

"I love you too. You know I do," John whispered, squeezing Sherlock's hand. He took another sip of his tea, and when he looked back up at Sherlock, the world spun a little.

"Sherlock... what did you do?" he asked, looking back down at his tea and swaying slightly. He fought to keep his eyes open, gripping Sherlock's hand tighter. "No, no you can't leave me. You can't do this," he begged, realising immediately that Sherlock had been lying about Moriarty.

Sherlock set his and John's tea aside as calmly as he could and wrapped his arms around John; just another minute, maybe two because John would fight it. "It's already done," he said quietly, holding John close and scenting his neck again, hating the fear there... he'd put that there. "He'll kill you, John... both of you. And I can't... I can't have that happen," he explained.

"He's going to kill you!" John sobbed, grabbing at Sherlock's dressing gown, his grip not as tight as he wanted it to be. "Sherlock please, please, I can't live without you." He was crying now, sobbing heavily against Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock couldn't stop the tears that spilled out onto his cheeks, only two; he wouldn't allow more. "No, John!" he scolded gently. "No, you promised. Katherine... she needs you," he said, swallowing thickly.

 "And she is me... and you. The best parts," his voice hitched a little. "I love you... I always will, and if it's at all within my power I will come back to you... always. I'm never leaving," he said, pressing a kiss to John's forehead.

 _But you are_ , John wanted to say, but he couldn't make his lips move, couldn't get his throat to form the words. He cried harder, shaking his head as he slowly lost control of his body, the drug Sherlock had given him forcing him under. He passed out on Sherlock's shoulder, tears still running down his cheeks.

Sherlock let out a breath, biting back a sob. He smoothed down John's hair, wiping the tears from his face. "Always, John... always," he said, laying him down and tucking a blanket around him. He swallowed, getting dressed and setting his plans in motion. He called Molly, giving her a short explanation, saying that he needed her. They had talked in theory, but she didn't know it was about him. She would help him he knew.

Ten minutes later he looked once more at John, then left, heading downstairs and knocking on Mrs Hudson's door. He explained that John had taken ill, and was resting and that he had to leave for a case. He walked over to see Katherine, who was grinning and giggled a little to see him. He picked her up, holding her close. "My girl... always. Dada's going to come back. Papa can’t know... but I am," he whispered.

Katherine's face got a little serious before she babbled, touching his face. "Dada."

It broke Sherlock's heart.

\--------------------------------------------------------

He left, making his arrangements, which took all night. Finally, at seven forty in the morning, he stood on the roof of Bart’s. Waiting.

"Bit boring, don't you think?" Moriarty asked, stepping around the doorway and walking towards Sherlock. He stood calmly beside him, staring out over the city, which was slowly getting showered in a watered-down sunrise. "Living, breathing. Dull." He glanced up at the Omega beside him, taking a deep breath of his scent. "I thought you were different, but you're not. You're so... ordinary."

Sherlock turned to look behind him as Moriarty approached. He swallowed, meeting his gaze steadily. "I'm not... not like the rest of them," he said. "But I try to be," he said softly. Normal people were generally happier. And he didn't want to be normal, just... normal enough. "Why are we here, Jim? How is it we finish our dance?" 

Jim sighed lightly. "Sherlock Holmes commits suicide after knowledge is leaked that he's a fraud." He shrugged. "I read it in the papers, so it must be true." He gestured Sherlock forward, toward the edge of the roof.

Sherlock blinked a few times, looking over the edge of the building. He'd been right, then... place with a view. He wanted Sherlock high up... so he could fall.

He turned to look at him. "And what knowledge is that?" he said, studying the man carefully. "What is it about me... that has you so... as you are. Even when I was in that place. I was a boy... what was it?" he asked.

"Oh, poor Sherlock." Jim shook his head slowly. "Don't you understand how many cases of yours I've been behind? How easy it would be for me to turn up new evidence that would make  _you_ look like the killer?" He sighed, stepping forward and ignoring Sherlock's attempt at another conversation. "You may as well get it over with. I have snipers situated around your family and friends right now. And the only way for them to not shoot is if you jump."

Sherlock's heart caught in his throat and he blinked. He hadn't anticipated that. He tried to think of the variables. It was still possible, but then... Moriarty. He was a loose cannon, an untied lace. He couldn't just let him leave.

"No... no I don't think I will," he said, taking a step towards Moriarty. "You'll be bored without me, you know you will. You like watching me dance too much, and you don't have anything left. Besides, you would be the proof. I don't have to die... as long as I have you," he said, stopping a mere inches from Jim's face.

Jim paused, blinking a few times up at Sherlock. "But of course, love," he murmured, leaning up and stealing a kiss from Sherlock before he drew a gun from his waistband. "Have fun with that," he said with a wink, and then stuck the muzzle in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

***

John woke with a start, throwing off the covers and stumbling out of bed before he really even registered what time it was. Sherlock was gone, Sherlock had left, and he needed to follow. He changed clothes in record time, not even caring what he pulled on, and then he was down stairs and out the door, hailing a cab and demanding to be brought to Bart's – the only place he could think that Sherlock would be. Katty was with Mrs Hudson, so he didn't worry about her. She was fine, they were fine. But Sherlock...

***

"No, don't!" Sherlock said, trying to stop Jim but it was too late. His eyes widened when he saw the pool of blood forming around the man's head, his eyes open and an almost smug look on his face. "No... No, you've ruined everything!" he shouted at him, kicking his leg once before composing himself again.

He ran his fingers through his hair. Who would call off the snipers? He swallowed, looking at his watch, John will have woken by now. He would have to do it. He walked to the edge of the building, knowing that that was where the cab would bring John.

He called one of his people. "Have it ready... he can't see..." he said quietly to his biker. He would stick John with something, another drug, when he was knocked over. John couldn't be at full faculty, otherwise he would see that Sherlock wasn't really dead.

The truck was in place, John getting knocked over would give him time to climb out, and one of the 'concerned citizens' surrounding him would pour the blood, his blood that he'd frozen, on him. He took the small ball out of his pocket, gripping onto it. They would rush him away, to the morgue where Miss Molly Hooper would declare him dead. He closed his eyes, hating this more than anything, but he would come back. Once John and their daughter were safe from everyone in Moriarty's web. He saw the cab, letting out a breath as he picked up his phone and dialled the number.

***

John was jogging towards the entrance to Bart's when his phone rang. "You had better have a damned good excuse, Sherlock," he said. "I'm coming inside, and if you're not there I will hunt you down."

"No... No, go back outside where you were," he said. "Please! Just... go back towards where you were," he said, swallowing thickly. He stood up on the ledge, watching John as he slowly made his way back to the right spot.

John froze, hearing a break in Sherlock's voice, a slight tremble in it. "Okay, alright. Sherlock, what's going on?" he asked, walking back towards where the cab had dropped him off.

Sherlock let out a breath, looking at John. He hated this. "Look up," he said, meeting John's gaze. "I'm sorry... for the tea, I'm sorry," he said.

"Oh, god..." John stumbled back a few steps, staring up at the silhouette of Sherlock standing on the roof. "Sherlock, what... what's going on?" He swallowed, gripping tight to his phone.

"It'll be in the papers... that I'm not real... that I'm a fake," he said, swallowing thickly. "That place... it just won't go away. I... I'm not real," he said, spinning the web of lies that was his depression, Moriarty's lie being the tipping point. "I am... it's a trick, John... all it is, a magic trick," he said, swallowing thickly, the closest he could get to telling John the truth for now.

John shook his head, the back of his throat burning with tears. "What are you going on about? Stop it, Sherlock. Please. Please, just... I'm coming up, alright?" He started forward, stepping off of the pavement and onto the street.

"No! You have to stay where you are, don't come any closer," he said. "I... John, this... this is my note. That's what people do isn't it? Leave notes?" he asked quietly.

John froze again, holding up his free hand and backing up at the desperation in Sherlock's voice. "Leave a note when?" he asked, and he couldn't help his voice breaking, because he knew. He wasn't stupid, he knew what was coming. "Sherlock..."

Sherlock let out a breath, seeing his biker coming up the street. Soon. He looked at John, "I can never thank you enough, John. All you've done for me... given me, Katherine being the most important, amazing thing. She said it... my name,” he said, voice cracking as he paused.

“I love you both so much... and I always will. Goodbye, John," he said, dropping his phone and angling himself as he pitched himself off the building just as the biker ran into John, knocking him over and sticking him to disorient him more.

"No, don't. Sherlock!" John started to run forward, panic blooming up behind his ribs, coursing through his veins until he was consumed with only forward motion. Something hard struck him from the side and he fell, hitting his head.

Sherlock felt what had to be a couple of ribs crack as he landed in the back of the lorry, quickly climbing out and arranging himself on the pavement, ball under his right armpit as the people rushed forward. He made his face blank, forcing it because it would save John's life, and he could do that no matter the pain. He felt the sticky liquid pour onto his head and neck as he stared blankly, his eyes practically closed. He wouldn't need to blink, the tears he was holding back keeping his eyes wet.

Groaning, John stumbled unsteadily to his feet, walking ungracefully over to the group of people that had already gathered around...  _no_...

"He's my mate, please, he's my –" his voice broke as he stumbled through the circle, falling to his knees at the sight of his best friend and mate lying dead on the ground. Blindly, he reached forward with a shaking hand and searched for a non-existent pulse on his wrist. "No, no, please," he begged the orderlies when they came to take him away. "Please..."

They didn't listen, and Sherlock was gone, and then the crowd was, too, and he was still kneeling alone on the wet pavement.

***

Sherlock felt like he was being stabbed with each word John said. Finally he was carried away, and he was left alone in the morgue on a slab. Molly came forward then with a blanket and he deftly stripped from his blood-soaked clothes. He wrapped himself up in the blanket and locked himself in his (Molly's) lab, as a sob tore out of him. He howled, slamming himself against the cupboards and crying out.

 He felt a painful tug, and he realised that that was his bond. John thought he was dead, and though the bond would still be there... it would be faint, because the only one keeping it alive would be Sherlock. Over the next few hours he knew what would be happening, knew that Molly would sign her report, declaring him dead for the world... and to John. 

"I'll come back... as soon as I can, I'll come back. I promise," he said, shutting his eyes.

***

John didn't know how, or really even why, but somehow he found himself stumbling out of a cab and onto the steps of the flat. He slowly but steadily unlocked the door, all of the panic and adrenaline that had been rushing through him now replaced with a numb nothingness. He walked into Mrs Hudson's flat and found Katherine in a spare playpen they kept there. She held up her hands to him, her bright smile fading as she noticed his face.

"John? Everything alright, dear? Sherlock said you were sick; are you feeling better?" Mrs Hudson asked, coming out of the next room.

 Hearing Sherlock's name was like taking an ice-pick through his ribcage, but somehow he managed to nod and stumble up the stairs, collapsing into his chair when he reached it.

***

Sherlock did nothing for a week. He stayed at a small bedsit out of sight, watching the news. Moriarty was bluffing it seemed, though there were rumours, rather than hard evidence of him being a fake. But his suicide had taken more prominence in the media. Sherlock hated himself, spending that week alone, getting used to it. After all, the only people he would talk to now were for information, and the other ones... he would kill them. Not much there for conversation.

 During that week he gathered information, enough to get started. He bleached his hair, got new clothes and false identification, a new scarf to cover his marks. He left England that last night, heading over the channel to find the first of Moriarty's men. The game was on, one he had to win... he wouldn't allow himself to lose.

***

It had been a week, and John was still numb. He wasn't sure how he got through the day-to-day norms, but he supposed it had to do with Katherine. He'd quit work, because the first day he had been supposed to go back he had ended up pub-hopping and getting pissed instead.

Katherine's birthday had passed with a party and lots of presents (he had insisted that he be given nothing) and that evening Katty had looked up at him with her soft grey eyes and asked where her daddy was. John had thought he would die from the agony that had ripped through him, but instead he just sat down beside her and played dolls with her.

She was asleep now, holding onto the doll Mrs Hudson had given her as she rocked in her swing. John rubbed his eyes, glancing down at the papers that were still littered with news of... of  _it_. He hadn't read any of them, but he was keeping them all so that he could either burn them or show Katherine some day when she was old enough. He hadn't decided yet.

\--------------------------------------------------------

The first one was easy enough to fall; he'd been sloppy. News of Moriarty's death spread, and his people spread out to the winds to continue their own business. It had been three months, and he'd felled two of Moriarty's men. He looked at a photo he kept tucked away safely, John and Katherine. He let out a breath, hating himself still. That had become a constant these days, and from time to time he would touch the mark on his neck as if checking for the bond, praying it was still there.

It didn't take long before Mycroft found him, of course, contacting him. He promised to take care of John and Katherine. He told Sherlock that John had quit his job, but Sherlock knew that Mycroft would see to it that John's account always had enough in it. They would want for nothing...

The trail continued, though; after each man fell, information on another popped up and he pursued them, one after another until that was the only thing he could think about, and he lost track of time.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another early post for you lovelies. :)

"Don't worry, John," Mrs Hudson murmured, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. "I can take care of her for a few hours. I understand, dear."

John smiled his thanks and then headed out the door to catch a cab. They had done this last year, too, on the anniversary. Except that time John had gone out and drunk his feelings away. He had no intentions of going to a pub today.

He directed the cab to Bart's, paying the fare and climbing out when he reached the hospital. It was difficult to climb to the top without getting stopped by people that knew him, but eventually he made it. It was his first time here since it happened, and just remembering the crime scene photos nearly brought him to his knees.

"You left me," he murmured to no one, walking across the roofline and standing just shy of the ledge, looking down at the street. He choked on a sob, raking a hand through his hair. "Sherlock, what have you done?"

***

Sherlock got the text from Mycroft and instantly called Molly. He couldn't get there on time and he was almost done... so close.

_Damn it John, if you had just waited... my John._

***

Molly stepped up onto the roof, her heart pounding from racing up the steps. "John!" she called, running over and stopping a couple meters from him. "John... stop! You have to listen to me, don't do this," she said, pleading. "I haven't... please, you can't do this!" she begged.

She'd been told to try and not tell the truth, that John couldn't know for his safety, for Katherine's safety. John just had to wait a little longer. "John... think about Katherine..." she said. "Don't make her lose you too," she said.

John clenched his fists, ducking his head. "I can't, Molly," he whispered, his eyes fixed on the street below him where Sherlock had died two years ago. "I can't do this without him anymore." He swallowed, closing the distance between himself and the ledge. "Katherine..." his voice broke, thinking about his daughter who, every day, reminded him of the mate he had lost. _My fault. Should have seen it sooner_. "She's got Mycroft and Lestrade. She'll... she'll be alright."

Molly took steps towards him slowly. "John, it doesn't matter who she'll have... she needs you," she said quietly. She thought about Lestrade and Mycroft. They'd lost the pup in the first trimester, and Lestrade had taken a long break from the Yard. That on top of everything else...

"John, listen to me, it will get better, but you have to trust me... I'm your friend. And you have to wait." 

John sobbed, closing his eyes and shaking. "Wait for what?!" he demanded, his voice ripping and cracking so tremendously that it didn't sound like it belonged to him. "He's dead, Molly. He killed himself because... because he was in pain, and I was too selfish to see it."

"John...you can't possibly believe that," Molly said, taking another cautious step towards him. "This wasn't your fault, and Sherlock... he always had reasons for things. Always," she said.

"Now... that little girl is turning three in two days. And her father needs to be there. You weren't being selfish John, Sherlock knew that, everyone does. But if you do this John Watson... then you really are being selfish. Because it isn't just about you... it's about her."

John stumbled back away from the edge of the roof, his knees giving out before he could make too much progress. "I hate him," he whimpered, burying his face in his hands and rocking forward until his forehead pressed against the rooftop. "I fucking hate him, and I can't even do that because he's dead."

Molly came forward and wrapped her arms around John, holding him as he rocked. "You don't..." she murmured. She knew he didn't; John loved Sherlock more than anything and rather than have that hurt... he said he hated him. 

 _Sherlock...you'd better hurry,_  she thought to herself.

\--------------------------------------------------------

**Two weeks later**

He was so tired. Two years, sixteen days and a jumble of hours and minutes he couldn't even remember now. It was raining, but then of course it was; it was London in the early spring. He was done – finally he'd taken down the last. Anton Kruger. Though... the man was reluctant to go, having knifed Sherlock in the side. He nearly missed... nearly. Sherlock didn't worry about that though, keeping his hand pressed to his side as he made his way to Baker Street.

He would be fine... his John, who he'd dreamed about, those dreams being the only escape from the hell his life had been the last two years. His body held more scars now, and he was thin, not having John to nag at him about eating... his John, would fix him back up. Just like he had five years ago. He was twenty-three now, and Katherine... oh sweet Katherine. Sherlock wondered what she looked like. He felt so tired, his head light, not only bleeding but not having gotten proper sleep in days. He'd been pushing to find Anton.

Finally he was in front of their flat, his long hair, dark again having grown it out, plastered to his head from the rain, just slightly longer than it was when John had first saved him. He swallowed, trying to straighten up as he knocked on the door three times.

***

John had been reading to Katherine most of the morning, listening to her as she mimicked words as he spoke them, trying them out with inflection in her voice. She was getting rather good at it, able to communicate exactly what she wanted extremely effectively. The knock on the door had surprised him, but he set Kat off of his lap and promised to be right back as he trotted down the stairs and pulled open the door.

His smile fell off of his face, and he could feel all of the colour draining from his skin. "No," he whispered, taking a step back into the flat, his eyes flickering over who had to be – but couldn't be – Sherlock. "Go away," he breathed, forcing it out as tears welled up in his eyes. "Get out of my house. You died, you're dead. You're not real, and I want you to leave."

Sherlock's pale face lit up when John pulled open the door, falling instantly again when he saw his expression. He swallowed thickly, blinking a few times. He hadn't expected that... but really, what should he have expected? In his dreams, John was always happy to see him, but then... this was real life. "J... John. It's me... I, I told you... I promised I would... come back," he said, hand still firmly pressed to his side. He leant against the doorframe, trying to keep himself up.

John shook his head again, fear starting to pump through him.  _What the hell was going on?_

Sherlock was going to say he was sorry, the thought even crossed his mind to offer to come back, but his knees gave out, and he lost all awareness of what was happening.

 When Sherlock suddenly slumped forward, passed out, only John's army instincts and strong arms kept him from hitting the floor.

He swore quietly when he felt the blood coming out of Sherlock's side and quickly carried him upstairs, despite only wanting him to leave. He had just come to terms with his death. Why was he back now?

"Papa? Who's that?" Katherine asked as John walked past the living room and down the hallway. "Is he okay?"

"He's hurt really bad, Katty girl," John called over his shoulder, setting Sherlock on the bed and taking his shirt off of him. "Could you grab Papa his med kit, love?" he asked, having already taught Katty where it was. "Jesus, Sherlock, what the hell have you been doing?"

The three year old nodded, taking off down the hall, her ebony curls bouncing as she did so. She dug out the kit from the big drawer in John’s desk and ran back to his room, tip toeing in and handing it to him. She looked at the man on the bed, blinking a few times, watching his face.

She sniffed. "He's wet," she noted, looking at his side and gasping a little. "Bleeding! Has an owie!" she said.

John rifled through the kit, quickly digging out some gauze and rubbing alcohol. "Yes he does," he said, glancing over at Kat and giving her a soft smile. "That's why he's here, he needs Papa to help him get better, because that's what Papa does," he explained, turning his attention back to Sherlock and quickly setting about cleaning the stab wound.

Katherine tilted her head a little, looking at the man again. She stepped forward carefully, seeing all the small scars and bruises on the man's chest and arms. She sniffed again, reaching up and brushing some of his curls out of his face and behind his ear like Papa did for her. She blinked, looking at the mark that was on his neck. She pointed at it. "Wha’s that?" she asked.

John hid his wince with a skill that he had mastered over the last two years. "That's a bond mark," he said evenly, reaching into the medical kit for a needle and stitching string. He filled a pan with the alcohol and put the items into it, letting them sterilise for a moment.

"He has another on the back of his neck," he told her, threading the needle and quickly starting to stitch him up.

Katherine took another step closer, leaning forward to see a little more of his neck, seeing it there. She fidgeted a little, wincing when she saw the needle. She looked at the scar on his shoulder. "Papa look," she said, pointing at it. "Like Papa's," she said, looking back up at the man's face. Her gaze kept settling on it and she took a breath, leaning on the bed a little, feeling comfortable despite the stranger on the bed. She blinked a few times, still looking at him.

"It is, isn't it?" John quickly finished with the stitches and placed a bandage over the wound. It should stop bleeding within the hour. "He got that protecting me," he murmured, moving to sit on the other side of the bed and motioning Katherine to join him. "You wanted to know who he is. That's your daddy."

Katherine looked up at her Papa, blinking a few times again. She looked at the man, wandering around the edge of the bed and standing at the edge of it, leaning on her Papa's leg. She nodded when he started talking. She blinked, her brow furrowed as her face pinched in a very “Sherlock” way as she looked at the man again. "But..." she said, not understanding. "Don’ have daddy," she said.

John pulled her up onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You do, he just... went away for a long time. And he's really bad about giving fair warning." He sniffed, reaching up and wiping tears from his cheeks. "Sorry, love. I'm just a little shocked."

Katherine blinked again, looking down at the man on the bed. He stirred slightly and Katherine jumped a little, wriggling out of her Papa's arms and onto the floor. She sniffed, crossing the room to pick up a doll she'd left in the room, and then raced out of it. 

Sherlock shifted again, a quiet groan coming out of him as he slowly pulled his eyes open, disoriented as they rolled around the room. They finally landed on John, and they focused slightly for a moment before sliding back out as the room went blurry.

 "Mmm... J.. John?" he breathed drowsily, his eyes trying to pull shut again. "Mmm John..." he mumbled under his breath.

"You're a bloody idiot, and I fucking hate you, you giant git," John murmured. "But yeah, I'm here." He set his hand on Sherlock's and squeezed. "Go back to sleep," he ordered, pushing out of bed to follow after his daughter.

Sherlock mumbled incoherently, his fingers grasping at John's weakly but they were already gone. "Mm... John..." he said in a small voice, fading back out into blackness. 

***

"Katty? You alright?" John called, finding her in the living room.

Katherine was in the living room tucked in the large leather armchair, which she called hers. She had Regina on her lap, which was the name of that doll. She looked up at John and nodded. "Yes, Papa," she said quietly, brushing down Regina's hair. She looked up towards the hallway and then back down.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" John asked quietly, sitting down in his chair across from her. She was just a little over three years old, but he treated her like an equal. She was certainly intelligent enough for it. "You can talk to me, Katty, you know that."

Katherine looked up at John, blinking a few times. "I'm fine, Papa," she said. She sniffed a little, rubbing her nose. She sneezed, looking down at Regina. "Said that… that don’ have a daddy," she said. 

John winced, looking down at his hands. "I know, sweetheart. Can I tell you something?" he asked, glancing up at her and meeting eyes that had become nearly identical to Sherlock's as Katherine got older. "I thought your daddy died. But he didn't; he just lied to me for a really long time, and I don't know why. I wish I did, Katty, and I'm sorry for this."

Katherine looked down again, smoothing down Regina's curls a little before fiddling with her own. She looked over at the table where there was a picture John holding her when she was smaller, a larger mate to the one Sherlock carried. She looked between it, and John.

"That what makes Papa sad?" she asked, looking at him. That was her Papa's face, but in pictures it looked different, and closer to her birthday it looked sadder. She sneezed again, sniffling as she rubbed her nose.

"Come here, Katty. I think you're getting a cold," John murmured, avoiding the question. He leant down and kissed the top of Katherine's head when she walked forward, setting his hand against her forehead.

"No fever. I'm going to give you some pre-cold medicine, alright?" he said, standing up and walking into the bathroom to fetch it before returning to the living room.

Katty slid off of her chair and came forward, blinking a couple times when Papa's hand pressed against her forehead. She scrunched up her face when he mentioned the medicine. "Noooo! No medicine!" she complained, making a dash for the stairs and scrambling up them and diving under her bed.

John walked back into the living room, pausing just over the threshold with a heavy sigh. "God, you are  _just_  like your father." He regretted saying that immediately, mostly because Sherlock was asleep in the room behind him and he was still sore about... well, everything.

 He mounted the stairs with a sigh, taking a seat on Kat's bed with his feet folded underneath him. "What's wrong with medicine?" he asked quietly, knowing that she was under the bed.

"It's icky!" she replied quickly, pulling her feet more under the bed and puffing a breath of air at the dust bunnies under her bed. They swirled, kicking up a bit and she sneezed again, coughing this time.

"I bought new stuff, remember? This is grape," John said, shaking the bottle. "Now come out from under there, please, or I'm going to have to count you, and you know what happens if I get to three," he warned gently.

"No!" Katherine said stubbornly, turning around so she was closer to the wall corner where her bed was tucked. "No! No! Grape's icky too!" she said stubbornly.

"One," John counted, still completely calm. He didn't believe in physical punishment for his daughter, not with how intelligent she was, but she would lose all of her favourite toys for a week if she didn't come out, and she knew it. "Two," he warned, setting the bottle down on the nightstand.

Katherine gasped, looking at where Regina was on the floor. She scrambled out from under the bed and stood up, coated with dust. "Fine, out!" she said, stomping one small foot in protest. "Said come out or count, I'm out! No medicine," she said, making her argument. It was true; Papa said to come out or he'd count. She came out.

John shook his head. "Oh, yes, you're clever, and don't I know it." He poked the tip of her nose. "But you know what happens if you don't take medicine?" he asked, setting his feet on the floor and holding his hands out, brushing the dust off when she came closer. "You get sick. And trust me, being sick is worse than any medicine."

Katherine's lip stuck out in a pout and she glared at the bottle of medicine. She sniffed a little again. "No s'not," she mumbled. "Medicine is... is icky," she said, sticking out her tongue and folding her arms. 

John shrugged, picking up the bottle and moving for the stairs. "Alright, then. I don't want to hear you complaining when you get sick, then," he said, starting downstairs.

Katherine blinked a couple times, not expecting to win the argument; she never won. Well... almost never. She sniffed, getting distracted and moving over to her small table to colour.

 John replaced the medicine in the bathroom cabinet, and then moved into the bedroom to sit next to Sherlock, resting his head on the Omega's chest. "I hate you," he whispered, trying to convince himself. "But I need you to come back."

Sherlock shifted a fraction again, stirring slightly though he didn't wake for another half hour.

 He hummed, feeling something warm next to him. Someone. He lifted one hand up, his eyes still closed as his fingers found John's, weaving into them. He hummed a little, taking a deep breath and recognising the scent in the room. God, it felt like a warm blanket settling over him, and it made the ache in his side lessen.

He pulled his eyes open, realising that in his dreams he could never remember John's scent, and now he had it. He blinked a few times, looking at John and curling up on his side, curling into him. "You're real this time," he said drowsily.

John blinked slowly at the fingers weaving through his, and he slowly lifted his gaze until he met Sherlock's wavering one. A sob ripped through him unexpectedly, and he clung to Sherlock, crying against his shoulder. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you I hate you IhateyouIhateyou," he whimpered, his fingers combing lovingly through Sherlock's curls, quite in opposition of what he was saying.

John was solid, real. He was there, and Sherlock had actually made it back home. He wasn't sure how though, not remembering. He had had such vivid dreams, coming home and being with John, and Katherine, who was always an infant even though time had passed. He didn't cry, too tired and worn down for that, and he'd cried so much already, alone... he wasn't sure he could again.

"I know," he breathed. "I owe you a thousand apologies, but know... you'll never hate me as much as I do myself already," he said quietly, looking at John, his eyes distant, empty as they had been for some time. "I... I had to, John. Moriarty... he killed himself so I couldn't stop him, there was no one to stop the snipers... if I hadn't died, I... they would have killed you. Both of you... everyone I love..." he said, wanting... _needing_  him to understand.

John hit Sherlock in the shoulder, hard. "You disappeared for two years!" he all but screamed, ripping at his own hair. "You could have sent a bloody postcard or something." Anything. Anything would have been better than walking around blaming himself. "Your daughter doesn't even know you exist now!" His voice broke, and he shook his head, rolling over because he couldn't look at Sherlock.

Sherlock winced, trying to sit up and finally managing, propping himself up against the headboard. "It wasn't safe!" he said in a small voice, looking at John. "I thought about you every day, John, both of you. I couldn't contact you; if they found out... or if something happened to me? I didn't want to die twice. I didn't want to do that to you," he said.

"I... I've been stabbed three... well four times now, shot twice more, and almost drowned. I knew that I had to finish... before coming back, and I worked, everyday just to... to do that," he said, the comment about Katherine ripping out his heart. So too did John's rejection of him.

He just wanted his Alpha back, to hold him again, to feel safe, and to stop fighting. But he'd ruined that. He held his side, reaching over for his still damp and bloodied shirt. "I... I can go," he made himself say. "I understand," he said quietly. "I just... didn't want to lie anymore." 

"Don't you fucking dare," John all but growled, spinning around into a sitting position so quickly that he nearly got dizzy. "You just fucking showed up, you can't bloody leave me again. Now lay the hell back down or so help me I will give you a sedative." He knew it wasn't healthy to want Sherlock to stay, but he had been inches from jumping off of St Bart's not even a month ago. This was the better of two evils, even though it would most likely never be the same.

"Now, my daughter's being a brat and won't take her medicine, which means she's going to be sicker than all hell tomorrow. If you leave this bed for anything other than going to the bathroom, I will kill you myself." He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead, and then went to go collapse on the sofa.

Sherlock flinched, the wall he'd built the last two years of standing up for himself crumbling as John growled at him. He laid back, feeling horrifically small and nodding a little like a chastised child. He deserved worse. He deserved John throwing him out, telling him never to come back. It felt like he'd been stabbed again when John called Katherine his daughter, instead of theirs. He laid back, listening to John storm away, blinking a few times at the kiss that was burning on his forehead.

Maybe... maybe someday he could be forgiven. 

Katherine had heard Papa yell, edging down the steps and poking her head into the living room, sniffling a little. She toed into the room and nudged John a little on the shoulder to get his attention.

"Um...Papa? Was thinking maybe don’ want get sick," she said, rubbing her nose a little with a sniff. "And maybe medicine won't be icky with chocolate milk?" she asked quietly, twisting her fingers.

John rolled over, not trying to hide the tears that were pouring down his cheeks. "Oh, honey, come here," he whispered, pulling Katherine into his arms and holding onto her, rocking her slowly. "Alright, my brave girl. I think that sounds like a good idea," he said, wiping at his cheeks.

Katherine opened her mouth in a small 'o' of worry when she saw John's face, her hands going to his cheeks. "Papa you're sad!" she said, frowning a littler herself. "Get a owie?" she asked, pressing a small kiss to his damp cheek before turning her head sharply and sneezing, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve.

"No, I don't have an owie. I'm okay, Katty girl, I promise." John kissed her cheek, handing her a Kleenex before standing and walking into first the bathroom and then the kitchen, grabbing the medicine and then a large glass of chocolate milk. "Just take this little bit," he said, measuring out the medicine and handing it to Katherine.

She wiped at her nose, sitting down at the kitchen table and frowning at the little cup of medicine. She sniffed it, wrinkling her nose. She let out a breath, then tipped up the tiny cup, forcing it down and shaking her head, gagging. She coughed, then took up the glass of milk, drinking some of it down, getting a moustache on her lip. "Tasted icky... milk made it better though," she said.

John smiled, wiping at her little moustache with his finger. "Thank you for taking it, sweetie. You'll feel better." He brushed his fingers through Katty's hair, tucking a few curls behind her ear. "Papa's going to go lie down on the sofa. You're welcome to join me, if you want," he offered, kissing her forehead and walking away.

“Okay, Papa." Katherine sniffed a little, staying in the kitchen and drinking from her cup. She swung her legs from the chair as she finished, sliding the cup onto the counter by the sink and starting down the hall. She stepped into the bathroom and went, using the little seat that sat on top of the toilet. She didn't use a potty chair any more like a baby. After she washed her hands, she looked at the door to her Papa's room, thinking before slowly opening it, cautiously peering in. 

Sherlock stayed laying on the bed, making himself focus on the pain in his side. One because he deserved it, two because it distracted him from the wrenching pain in his chest. He heard the door open and turned his head towards it, expecting to see John. Instead he saw one small eye not unlike his own and a bunch of dark curls hanging by the sliver of face he could see.

He blinked, feeling his heart swell; he knew who that was. "Hello, Katherine," he said quietly. She leant in a little more, and it pained Sherlock to see the lack of recognition that she had once held. She had giggled to see him last, touching his face and saying his name for the first time. "You got big," he said, almost saying sweetheart but he didn't want to frighten her.

Katherine looked down for a moment, slinking in the room little by little before her eyes looked up and met his again. She looked at him, tilting her head a little; he looked funny... almost familiar like she'd seen him somewhere. She sniffed, just looking at him, saying nothing.

Sherlock continued to look at Katherine, wondering if John told her about him. He took a breath, rolling carefully over to look at her more, bringing a blanket up to cover his wound.

"Already saw that," she said. "Watch Papa fix it," she stated, still looking at Sherlock. He let out a breath – already talking so much... and he'd missed it.

"Yes, well... your Papa's a good doctor," he said quietly.

Katherine rubbed her nose, sniffing again.

"You look funny," she said, looking at him steadily. 

Sherlock blinked. "Is funny bad?" he asked. Katherine shook her head, taking a couple steps forward towards the bed and reaching out to touch Sherlock's face. This was uncommon for her; normally she was quite shy around other adults, except the ones she knew, like Gran Hudson, Aunt Harry and Gran Gran. Papa mentioned Uncle Greg and Mycroft, but she didn't see them a lot.

She sniffed again, her hand resting on his cheek. "Funny not-good bad. Jus’ funny," she said. Her brows pulled together a little and Sherlock could see her looking for something and he sighed a little.

"You were too small to remember my promise, Katherine. You were one of the only ones I told... I promised I would come back, but that your Papa couldn't know," he said, reaching up cautiously and gently touching her hand. He expected her to pull her hand away.

She didn't. 

***

John laid on his side, his arms folded across his chest. He was shaking again, biting his lip to the point of bleeding because he didn't know what to do. Sherlock wasn't dead, and he was happy, so happy that it nearly blinded him, but at the same time Sherlock had lied and left him alone for over two years to raise their daughter by himself. He had almost killed himself, had almost left his daughter with an uncle that she didn't know. "Fuck," he whispered, burying his face in his arms.

John stood slowly after a few moments, walking into the kitchen and making some tea. It had taken him well over six months before he had stopped automatically making two mugs, and now it felt like coming home, making a cup the way he remembered Sherlock liked it. He walked slowly to the bedroom door, pausing when he heard Katherine's soft voice.

Katherine sniffed again, looking at Sherlock still. "Can make Papa not sad 'nymore?" she asked quietly, her face serious. "Papa sad lots sometimes," she said softly, looking down.

Sherlock swallowed. "There's nothing I want more than for your Papa to be happy, Katty. But... I can't promise that. I did a bad thing. I lied to your Papa, and I really hurt his feelings. I told you the truth because I knew you couldn't tell him and it would be our secret," he said quietly.

"But I lied, and that was wrong." Even if done for the right reasons, but he wouldn't say that to an impressionable three year old.

"Can't say you're sorry?" she asked.

"Oh Katty... I'm not sure it would ever be enough..." he said quietly.

John looked down at the tea in his hands, a muscle working in his jaw as he fought off the burning in the back of his throat. Damn it all to hell, he was actually going to do this, wasn't he?

He pushed open the door slowly, walking over and setting the mugs down on the nightstand closest to Sherlock. "Come on, let's get you sitting up," he said quietly, smiling down at Katherine as he helped Sherlock sit up, placing pillows under his back to support him before he handed off his tea. "Katty and I can run down and get you some pain medicine later," he said, taking her hand and walking over to the other side of the bed to sit down with her.

Sherlock pulled his hand down and away from Katherine's hand as John opened up the main bedroom door, not sure if he should even be allowed to touch her after what he did. He held his breath, save for the gasp as John situated him sitting up. He didn't move as he was sat back against the pillows, looking down at the mug in his hand. He glanced over cautiously in the corner of his eye as John perched on the edge of the bed across from him, helping Katherine scramble up on top of the bed and sitting at the foot of it.

He looked back down at the tea, reminded of what he'd done to John the night before he died. He let the warmth of the mug seep into his fingers. "I'm fine I... I don't need any," he said quietly. The pain was less than he deserved. Maybe he should have stayed dead... not disrupt their lives, but then... what was to keep John from doing something as stupid as jump off a roof?

"Don't be an idiot," John chided softly, taking a sip of the tea and glancing over at Sherlock. He looked over at Katherine and gave her a small smile and a wink before reaching over and grabbing Sherlock's chin gently with two fingers, forcing their eyes to meet. He didn't bother hiding the pain or the sorrow or the fear there, but he also didn't shove down the tremendous love that he still had for Sherlock.

Sherlock was afraid to meet John's eyes, seeing the hurt there... that he'd put there. He swallowed thickly, taking a small breath. With John so close, it was almost impossible to not lean in and scent his neck, curling up there. He didn't though, stopping himself from doing so.

 "I'm mad at you," John said softly. "Really, really mad at you. But I'm getting over it, because I can't do this without you, Sherlock, I really can't. But I can't have you wallowing around in self-pity, either. Alright?" He leant forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead and combing through his curls.

Sherlock sighed a little, nodding a gently and freezing when John kissed his forehead. He let out a breath, looking over at Katherine before giving her a small smile. 

She blinked a few times, looking at him steadily. "You really my daddy?" she asked, looking unsure, and almost afraid to ask. She'd wanted a daddy, that way her Papa wouldn't be so sad all the time. But he wouldn't have been  _her_  daddy. She knew that meant something different. 

Sherlock glanced at John, and then to Katherine. "Yes, Katherine. I'm your daddy, but... I'm not sure I deserve to be called that still," he said gently.

"Sherlock..." John looked down at his tea, unable to stop himself from thinking about the last time he and Sherlock had drank tea together. "Of course you're her daddy," he whispered, looking back up at Katherine and beckoning her forward until she was sitting between his legs. "So long as she's okay with it," he added, combing through Katherine's dark curls.

Sherlock swallowed, looking at her and the ease at which she curled up with John. Sherlock could smell her, still a mixture of both of them and her own scent as well, but it was more John now. He glanced up at John, not able to hold his gaze for long before looking down again, ashamed still. 

Katherine was sitting on her knees in between her Papa's legs, leaning against his chest and looking at Sherlock. She sniffled a little, looking at Sherlock steadily. She shrugged a fraction, hiding her face in John's chest for a moment. Why was something this big left to her? She huffed a sigh, looking at Sherlock and holding out her hand. "Katherine Nicole Holmes," she said quietly, with her manners like Papa liked her to. 

Sherlock let out a breath; he'd almost forgotten they decided on his last name. He swallowed, taking her small hand in his and shaking it. "Sherlock Holmes," he said quietly, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth.

John smiled, kissing the top of Katherine's head. "That's my girl," he murmured, rubbing her back. He looked back up at Sherlock, reaching over and closing his fingers around his hand. "Everyone asked why I didn't change her last name to Watson. I couldn't, I just couldn't." He slid over on the bed a little, moving Katherine with him and leaning lightly against Sherlock's shoulder. "Don't leave me again," he whispered.

Sherlock relaxed substantially when John leant against him, his scent so... strong, and safe, and real.

He shook his head. "No.... Never. Never again. I promise," he said softly, reaching up tentatively and touching one of Katherine's soft curls.

She felt the touch and turned her head to look up at Sherlock again. She sniffed again, wiping at her nose once more as she looked at him, some small spark of recognition in her eyes, but it was cautious, as if not sure if it was a memory or a dream that she could faintly remember. She leant more against John, snuggling close to her Papa, but her eyes stayed on Sherlock. 

"Good," John said softly, closing his eyes and nuzzling against Sherlock's temple. "You smell different," he murmured, moving down to scent Sherlock's neck. He ran his tongue over Sherlock's pulse point, tasting as well as scenting. "Nervous and hurt, but... changed on top of that," he said quietly, unabashed as he leant closer, scenting closer to the back of Sherlock's neck, near his mark. "Doesn't smell like me anymore," he realised, licking over his skin. "What happened?"

Sherlock's eyes slipped shut and he shivered at how close John was, and the touch on his neck. His breath caught a little, and he blinked his eyes open, glancing down at Katherine. She wasn't looking up at them, but rather the various nicks and scars on his torso. He couldn't and wouldn't even begin to explain everything while she was there. She didn't need to hear it. He wasn't even sure how to explain.

John let out a breath, looking down at Katherine and nodding. "Later," he whispered in Sherlock's ear. "I want you to tell me later, okay?"

Sherlock nodded once, dreading it already. He couldn't tell John all of that, but then... if anyone would understand, it would be John. John had killed, too, gone to war, lost people. Sherlock had nearly died a number of times, and he also had his informants' deaths on his hands as well, for the ones he had lost.

John leant over and kissed Sherlock's temple, then scooped Katherine up into his arms and kissed her cheek. "Two hours until bedtime, Katty girl," he told her. "Your choice of how you want to spend it."

Sherlock swallowed, looking down at Katherine who giggled as John scooped her up. 

"Dinner, Papa! Want pineapple chicken!" she said, bouncing a little. "Reading a-and play hide seek!" she said, coughing a little into the crook of her elbow.

John laughed, squeezing Sherlock's hand once more before sliding out of bed. "Alright, go pick out your book, and I'll order us some dinner, how does that sound?" He turned to Sherlock, brushing at his hair as Katherine left the room. "I'll order you some springs rolls, but I understand if you're not hungry. You should try to sleep for a while, though. That wound is going to take a bit out of you."

Sherlock exhaled softly, watching Katherine leave the room. He swallowed, allowing the pain on his face to show more, having not wanted to scare her. He nodded a fraction; he wasn't hungry. He never was most days, though he'd eat something every few days so as to not have a repeat of the stomach issue he'd had when John had originally saved him.

God... that felt so long ago. More than five years. He sighed, glancing up at John, rings under his eyes on his thin face. "I'm so sorry," he said again; he couldn't help but apologise again.

John's stomach and chest clenched, and he reached forward to wrap his arms around Sherlock's neck. He couldn't deny that he had been wanting to hug him and hold him since he had showed up. "I know," he whispered, his voice catching somewhere in his throat. "So am I." He pulled back, wiping at his eyes again before reaching for his phone and calling the Chinese place and giving their order.

Sherlock winced as he was pulled forward a little, but didn't care, losing himself in the moment that John was holding onto him. He laid back, looking at him and then up and around the room. He sighed; almost nothing had changed, except for the obvious presence of a toddler in the flat. He swallowed thickly, his eyes fluttering shut as he suddenly fell unconscious, having been ignoring how exhausted he was.

John set the phone down, looking over at Sherlock's suddenly unconscious form. "I'm going to have to cut your hair," he murmured to himself, combing absently through it for a moment before he pushed to his feet and walked into the living room. "Did you find a book, sweetie?"

Katherine was digging through one of the bottom bookshelves that her Papa had cleared for her books, having held a dusty set of outdated encyclopaedias before. She huffed a sigh, reaching in and pulling out one at random. She smiled, carrying over the Harold and the Purple Crayon book. She smiled, she liked that one. Had it memorised already, and could read it aloud, knowing what the words said because that's what Papa said they were, pointing to each word and saying it.

"Harold!" she said with another smile. She looked around, brows furrowed. "Where is he?" she asked, not saying Daddy. It seemed weird to say that yet... felt odd on her tongue. 

"He's sleeping, love," John replied softly, moving to sit down in his chair and patting his lap so that Katherine could wiggle up and lean back against his chest. "He needs the rest, so we need to let him sleep."

"Oh," Katherine said quietly, climbing up onto his lap and settling there with a small sigh. She looked at the book, tilting her head up to look at John. "You hate him?" she asked quietly. "Mm know lying's bad... but he's sad," she said.

John bit his lip. How could he explain what had happened to a three year old? "No, I don't hate him," he finally said, slowly to make sure he meant it, and he did. "I love him very much, and sometimes... sometimes love can make you do stupid things. He did a stupid thing, and he lied to me, and that..." he swallowed, looking down into her wide grey eyes. "That made your Papa really sad. I don't hate him, I'm just mad at him."

Katherine blinked a few times, sniffling again and clearing his throat. "Think should kiss and make up," she said simply. "Thas what Gran said about people on telly. Need kiss and make up," she said with a nod. She turned sideways on John's lap and rested her head against his shoulder. "If him being gone made Papa sad... will Papa be happy now?" she asked, looking up at him. She wanted him to look like in that picture.

John blinked a few times at how forward she said it. And then he silently swore, thinking about what the hell he was going to tell his mother. Or Harry. Or Mrs Hudson. Mycroft probably already knew, the bastard.

"It's not always that easy, sweetheart," he murmured, kissing the top of her head, "but it's a good idea." He sighed lightly, closing his eyes. "You're too smart for someone your age, you know that, love?" he teased, poking her side. "I don't know, honestly. I hope I'll be happier."  _For your sake, at least_.

"I know," she said with a small smug grin. Katherine squealed a little as John poked her side, which was very ticklish. She smiled and nodded, opening up the book for him to read. She didn't care that she could read it herself, she liked Papa reading it to her. She made him read it twice, the second time she read in unison with him, touching each word.

The bell rang when the food arrived and Katherine jumped off of John's lap. "Pineapple chicken!" she said excitedly.

John laughed, poking Katherine's side again as he grabbed his wallet and went downstairs to get their food. He quickly trotted back upstairs, setting the bag on the table and getting out plates and forks for them both. "Come sit down," he called, dishing her chicken out onto her plate and dumping his low mein and broccoli onto his own.

Katherine set the book down and dashed into the kitchen, climbing up onto her chair that had a booster. She settled down, reaching out for her plate and stabbing a chunk of pineapple, shoving it in her mouth. She hummed, a smile on her face. Pineapple was her favourite, especially the candied kind.

"Mmmm," she said, scooping up a bit of rice and looking at the spring rolls that had been ordered. Papa hadn't opened those.

"They’re for your daddy," John replied, hesitating a little on the last word but deciding to just say it. "I'll help him eat when he wakes up later," he said, twisting some noodles around his fork and setting them in his mouth.

Katherine clumsily stabbed up more chicken, some of the sauce getting on her face as she ate, a bit of rice sticking to her chin. "Don’ have help me eat," she declared, smiling as she looked at her Papa.

John grinned, eating more of his food. "No, I definitely don't have to help you eat."

"Want go to the park tomorrow," she said. "Can we?" she asked, pausing a moment. "Daddy can come to?"

He chuckled, looking up at the question. "Daddy's hurt, sweetie. He needs to rest for a few days, just lie down and eat and drink and sleep. He hasn't been taking very good care of himself while he's been gone." He ate a few more bites before standing up to get something to drink. "Want more milk?" he offered.

Katherine thought about that, then shook her head. "No. Juice! Oh, wait..." she said, remembering what Papa had been saying about asking and not telling. "Juice?" she asked.

"Sure, I can do that," John said with a smile, grabbing the pitcher of juice and pouring two glasses before retaking his seat. "Still want to go to the park, then? Just you and me?"

"Ummmmmm.... yes," she said, remembering to murmur a quiet thank you when she was handed her juice. She drank some of it down before continuing on her plate of food. She sniffed again, nose still starting to stuff up a bit.

John nodded, eating more of his food. When he heard Katherine sniff again, he looked up at her, tilting his head curiously. "Sweetie, are your eyes itchy or watery, or is it just your nose?" he asked, taking a drink of the juice.

Katherine paused, chewing slowly before swallowing. "Jus' my nose," she said, wriggling it in her rabbit impression. "Stuffy," she said with a sniff. "Why?" she asked.

John shrugged, chewing the food that was in his mouth. "I thought it could be allergies, but since you just have a runny nose, it's probably just a cold." He swallowed his last bit of food and stood to put his plate in the sink. "I'll give you more medicine tomorrow before we go out, okay?"

Katherine frowned a little. "Okay," she said, not wanting more medicine ever. She sighed, finishing off her plate and sliding off of her chair, face sticky with the sauce from her dinner. "Can play now?" she asked.

John chuckled, wetting down a flannel and ringing it out. "Let me clean you off first, and then yes." He quickly cleaned off her sticky face, tossing the rag into the sink. "Okay, you go hide, I'll count. My room is off-limits, though, because Daddy's sleeping, okay?"

Katherine fidgeted a little as Papa wiped at her face, hated getting cleaned up. She looked down the hall towards his room; that's where she'd been planning to go. She wanted to look at him again. She sighed, then nodded, lifting his hands to cover his eyes. "No peeking!" she said as she dashed off.

She took off to the stairs, stomping her feet as she went up the stairs, only to quickly creep back down silently, making it sound as if she'd gone up there. She tip toed down the hall, ducking into the bathroom and climbing into the bathtub, hunkering down in there.

John counted to twenty before he called out that he was coming to get her. He knew her tricks by now, knew that she was most likely still on the main level. "Hmm, I wonder where she could be," he mused, purposefully loud so that Katherine could hear him. He walked loudly up the stairs, creeping back down much like he knew she had, and quickly searched for her. "Found you!" he said, pouncing on her in the bathtub and tickling her.

Katherine screamed as the curtain was torn open, then let out a squeal of laughter as his fingers dove straight for her sides. "No fair!" she complained with a smile on her face, kicking out and pulling at her Papa's arms. "Nooooo!" she said, giggling again.

John laughed, blowing a wet breath across Katherine's stomach. He picked her up, holding her against his chest for a moment before tipping her upside down and holding her by her ankles while she laughed, walking back into the living room and gently dumping her onto the sofa.

"Ahhh! Papa… noooo!" she said, swinging her arms and hitting his stomach lightly. "Put down!" she laughed, her face turning red. She popped back up as soon as she was on the sofa, wrapping her arms around John's middle, still laughing, though it was interrupted by a couple small coughs.

John sat down, chuckling despite his growing concern at her coughing, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her temple lightly. "I love you, Katty," he whispered, stroking her hair and twisting one of the curls around his finger. "I love you so very much."

Katherine sighed, snuggling against his chest and smiling, starting to calm down a little. She leant up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Love you too, Papa, forevers and evers," she said, nuzzling against him. "Always," she added a moment later, not sure why, but it sounded like something to be said. "Always always always," she breathed, yawning a little.

John smiled a little at what Sherlock used to say to him. "I know, baby girl. Same to you. Now you better go potty and then we can go to bed, alright?" he suggested, kissing her forehead and then her nose before setting her on the ground.

Katherine nodded and ran down the hallway to the bathroom. After she went she stepped up on her stepladder and brushed her teeth with her special toothpaste. She sniffed a little, looking at the door to her Papa's room. She swallowed, poking her head inside and seeing the shirtless man still on the bed, asleep. She crept closer, tucking a curl behind his ear and climbing part way onto the bed, kissing his forehead. "Night Daddy," she breathed, quickly leaving before Papa found out. 

John rubbed his eyes when she ran off to go to the bathroom. Christ, he was going to have to stop thinking so hard or he would give himself an aneurysm. "Ready, Katty?" he asked when she returned. She nodded, rubbing her eye a little as she yawned again, lifting her arms up for him to pick her up. 

John smiled, lifting his daughter up and carrying her to her room, which they had repainted last year to her specifications. He set her down just inside the doorway so that she could change into her pyjamas, and then sat down beside her after she had crawled into bed.

"Goodnight, baby," he whispered, bending over to kiss her forehead again, tucking her hair behind her ear and cupping her cheek, stroking his thumb gently over it. "Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning."

She smiled. "Na'night Papa. Love you," she said, holding his cheeks and pressing a kiss to one of them.

He tucked her blankets in around her, pressing another soft kiss to her forehead, and then walked from the room, turning on her nightlight before he shut off the main light and descended the stairs.

She curled up on her side, her thumb slipping into her mouth as she curled up with her favourite blanket, asleep within minutes.

 


	9. Chapter 9

John walked over to his bedroom, pausing in the doorway for a moment to just watch Sherlock sleep. Shaking his head at himself, he turned around and walked into the kitchen, putting Sherlock's spring rolls in the fridge. He washed his hands and then slowly made his way back to the bedroom, walking over to the dresser to strip down and pull on his pyjamas.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock slept for several hours, not so much as moving on the bed. It was late in the night when his face twitched a bit, brows pinching as his eyes moved under their lids. He mumbled incoherently under his breath in French, trembling slightly in his sleep. 

John had climbed into bed, lying on his back beside Sherlock and just staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Now he rolled over, combing his fingers gently through Sherlock's hair and whispering to him. "Sherlock? Sherlock, wake up, it's just a nightmare," he insisted, gently shaking his shoulder.

Sherlock huffed a somewhat distressed breath, and as soon as his shoulder was grabbed his hand shot out and grabbed John's wrist, jerking up and pinning his other arm against John's throat before he was even all the way awake.

He blinked his eyes a few times, and they widened as he threw himself back off of him, nearly falling off the bed and gripping his side, which hurt with his movement. "John! I... I'm sorry I..." he swallowed thickly, looking around the room as if confirming that this is where he was.

John shook his head, not reaching up to rub his throat, which is what instinct was telling him to do. "It's fine, love, it's alright," he murmured, reaching out for Sherlock's hand. He didn't even realise that he had called him 'love,' too concerned for his well-being. "Nightmare?" he asked quietly, moving his hand up to cup Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock's chest was heaving still, working to steady his breaths. He swallowed thickly, holding still as John touched his face, lest he try to hurt him again. "I... I'm sorry I... lately I... well I've been grabbed while sleeping before," he said. "Put it off as much as I can," he said quietly. 

Pity ran through John, because he knew what that was like. It was hell, was what it was. "Come here," he said softly, holding open his arms for Sherlock to scoot into. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's thin frame, tucking Sherlock’s head against his chest and pressing a kiss to his temple. "You're alright," he promised quietly. "No one's going to grab you in your sleep anymore except me."

Sherlock hesitated a moment, not sure why John was allowing him this close even. He swallowed, carefully scooting forward, holding still as John wrapped his arms around him. Sherlock let out a breath, losing himself again in John's scent. It hadn't really changed all that much, still perfectly John. He shut his eyes, shivering a little. His side ached painfully, but he was used to one thing or another hurting, he just hoped that he didn't rip his stitches. 

John nuzzled instinctively against Sherlock's hair, growling a little as the possessive Alpha suddenly rose up in him and took hold. He rolled Sherlock over onto his back, mindful of his side, and braced himself above him, nuzzling and licking and nipping down his neck. "You don't smell like me anymore," he said, his voice a little rough as he bit down over the high mark on the side of Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock allowed himself to be moved, his heart speeding up instinctively; usually being pinned like this wasn't a good thing. He swallowed, looking at John and shivering slightly as he licked and nipped at his neck. "S-said that I didn't smell like me either," he said, gasping a little as John bit more on one of his marks. He went limp, completely pliant beneath the Alpha, pinned as he was. With anyone else... he would have minded. Did mind in fact, before. "He ruined it," he said quietly, after catching his breath.

John growled low in his chest at the mention of  _that_  Alpha. "Don't. Don't think about him," he said, scraping his teeth up Sherlock's neck until he was biting along his jawline. "We've been through enough; we can fix this too," he whispered, pausing when his lips hovered above Sherlock's. He met the Omega's gaze, tried to communicate through expression as best as he could, before he pressed their lips together.

Sherlock hummed, his eyes closing as he felt John's teeth graze up his neck to his jaw. He wasn't though, not  _him_. In the end, Moriarty was just the one that did it first, get the power. He was smart, but he wasn't the only one. And he wasn't the only Alpha he encountered. In fact, apart from a small handful of Betas, everyone he had to kill were Alphas. No... not Jim. Victor Trevor. He shivered a little again just thinking the name.

John pulled back when he felt Sherlock shiver, looking down worriedly at him. "Are you alright?" he asked, concerned. "I'm sorry, I'm going too fast, I just..." He sighed, rolling off of Sherlock and staring up at the ceiling again.

Sherlock blinked a few times, turning his head to look at John. "Get back here," he said, remembering. "Um... please, and... if you want. I –" He let out a breath. "I was just in my head. Spent the better part of two years there, just habit. I wasn't thinking about  _him_. In the end he was the pathetic one. He just had a lot of pull. Once he was gone, well... when the cat's away," he said, trying to roll over to be close to John, but he hissed in pain, holding his side.

John smirked at Sherlock's commanding tone, rolling back over to brace himself over the Omega, resting his hand over Sherlock's. "Stop pulling on your stitches," he chastised, lowering his head to brush his nose against Sherlock's, nipping at his lower lip.

"’m not... trying to," Sherlock said quietly, humming a little against John's mouth.

"You'll have to tell me about it all," John whispered, his lips moving against Sherlock's. "Just not right now."

He nodded, resting his forehead against John's. "Not now... later," he repeated quietly, letting out a breath. "’m too tired to 'nyway," he said quietly, wrapping his thin arms around John.

Sherlock leant his head up, kissing John hesitantly, carefully as if he might be scolded and told off for it.

John kissed Sherlock back firmly, making his intentions clear.  _You are mine. Mine and no one else's. You may be an idiot, but you are mine. Minemineminemine._  

He sucked loosely on Sherlock's bottom lip, slipping his tongue between the Omega's parted lips for a moment. He ran his fingers up Sherlock's uninjured side, taking his sweet time with this. Finally, though, he drew away, looking down at Sherlock. "Katherine and I are going to the park tomorrow if she isn't coming down with something more severe than a cold," he said, nuzzling against his cheek. 

Sherlock hummed, tracing John's lips with his tongue, taking in his familiar taste. He nuzzled back against him, not feeling this relaxed in years. "Mm... Alright. That will be fun for her," he murmured. He knew there was a small bit of flu going about these days. "She has her shots?" he asked. "She's so big... a small, little person now... and I missed it," he said regretfully, glancing up at John. "But John, I... we're free now," he said, looking up at him. "No more Moriarty or any of his men looking for us; we're safe," he said, wanting John to know that they wouldn't have to be afraid anymore.

 _Are we really, though? With what we do in our spare time – what you do for a living?_  John just smiled, though, cupping Sherlock's cheek with his hand and nodding. "I know, love." He kissed Sherlock again, twining their tongues for a moment before he slipped onto his side next to him, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

 "Yeah, she's got her shots, much to her annoyance. God, you didn't miss much. She's just like you. I swear, she's not my child at all. You made her by yourself, because the only thing she has in common with me is that she's not squeamish around injuries."

Sherlock turned his head to look at John, resting his nose in John's hair. "I saw you there," he murmured. "Seemed to have some manners, that's something isn't it?" he asked with a small smile.

He let out a breath, sighing a little. "You... you don't have anything in that med kit for pain do you?" he asked. "Something... erm, strong?" he asked. He didn't want to admit why his tolerance was high again, he was ashamed of himself, despite the fact that him doing it to begin with hadn't been his choice, but he would tell John about that later... maybe.

"How strong?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock. The emotions that ranged across Sherlock's face told John all he needed to know before the Omega even answered. "Sherlock! Why?" he demanded, pushing up onto his elbow to look down at him. 

Sherlock flinched, looking down in shame. He swallowed. "I... I didn't choose it," he said quietly. "For a couple months, John, I... I wasn't me. Nearly went mad, I… I pursued one of the targets that had information on one of Moriarty’s associates and ended up shot in the leg, and in a river. He was killed of course but... anyway. Managed to get to shore but I blacked out," he said quietly.

"When I woke up, I... it's hard, it's really fuzzy for me now. I was delirious with fever, and someone was taking care of me," he said quietly. "I remember feeling warm, and for some reason safe, which was something I hadn't felt in a long time. Of course that was the drugs for pain, but he'd added something else to it. It... did things to my head. Made me... off. I needed it, needed him because he had it. For a while it was like I'd forgotten who I even was," he said quietly.

John swallowed down his racing pulse, working his fingers to make his hands unclench. He wasn't mad at Sherlock, but instead at the man he was describing. He had touched Sherlock, drugged him with God knows what. "Is he dead?" John asked, because he would hunt him down and kill him himself if he had to.

Sherlock let out a breath. "Yes... he is," he said quietly. "He... he's why I don't smell right," he said. He looked up at John with an almost scared expression. "I... I started to realise what was wrong with it all, and it was so wrong. He was wrong, and I made myself focus. He was my target... the one I was chasing, he worked for Victor. Victor worked for Moriarty. He knew I was looking for him, so he took me," he said, swallowing.

"He found out I knew and he... he wanted me to stop. He was selfish, the drug, I... I couldn't stop..." He swallowed again. "He triggered my... heat I... he..." he was trembling now, "He tried to bond me, John," he said, his voice small.

In theory it was a perfect plan, Victor had sufficiently broken Sherlock down, made him dependent on the drug, a bond would have been the topping point that made Sherlock stay with him, loyal if not loving. "B-but... can't double bond. I still had you, even in that horrible place," he said quietly, touching the mark on his neck, which was partially someone else's now, though not as deep as John's had been. "You... s-saved me," he said quietly. "Again."

John wanted to throw something or hit something or both. He wanted to feel pain and inflict it, but damned if he'd ever actually been able to do that when he had wanted to. He pulled Sherlock forward, wrapping him up tightly in his arms and rocking him slowly. "Shh, love, it's alright," he murmured, holding him gently, despite still seeing red. "We can fix that, too," he promised quietly, combing through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock was still trembling when John pulled him into his arms. He felt an unfamiliar ache in his chest, and felt it bubbling up, threatening to spill out of him. He hadn't cried since that first week after he 'died.' He wouldn't allow it after, there wasn't time. But a sob tore out of him now and he pressed himself close to John, drinking in his scent, tears staining John's pyjama shirt.

"I'm sorry..." he said, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry... so, so sorry," he said, repeating himself over and over. "Mon John, je suis désolé. Jamais encore... s'il vous plaît, jamais. John... mon John. S'il vous plaît ..." He made a transition to French without realising, having spent some several months in and out of France. Victor had been in France as well. 

"Shh, Sherlock, shh," John murmured, not understanding the French that was being spoken, but recognising the distress in his tone. "It's alright, love, it really is," he promised, stroking his hair and rocking him slowly. "I understand, Sherlock, I do. It's alright, love." He pressed kisses over Sherlock's face, letting him expel the obviously pent-up tears and emotion.

Sherlock continued to sob for several minutes, burying his face into John's front and holding himself close to him. He eventually calmed marginally, steadying his breaths slowly. He looked up at John, blinking slowly. "I'm never leaving again... I promise," he said quietly, his voice tired. He settled next to John, still holding onto him.

 They lay quietly for several minutes before there were shuffling steps down the hall and Katherine came in, with what looked like sick down her front. She looked on the verge of tears. "P-p-papa? Don' feel good," she said in a small voice, sniffling more.

John jumped out of bed instantly, walking over to Katherine and leading her into the bathroom. "You're alright, baby," he said softly, positioning her in front of the toilet and slowly stripping her out of the pyjamas. "Next time you feel sick, do it in there, alright? I'm going to go get the thermometer."

Katherine sniffled a little again, nodding. "T-tried," she said, having gotten sick while detangling herself from her covers, unsuccessfully, as her bedding was covered with sick as well.

John kissed her temple, jogging into the bedroom, where he had left the devise.

She shivered a little in her pants, leaning over the toilet and getting sick again, only a little this time. She small wail escaped her as she spit out the nasty taste. 

Sherlock tried to push himself up when John ushered Katherine into the bathroom, finally managing to do so when he came back in. "What... what's wrong?" he asked, hearing her wail and feeling the urge to get up and find her, see that she was okay. He was surprised to find that urge, that instinct still there.

John shook his head. "Looks like the stomach flu," he said, grabbing the thermometer. "I just want to see how bad it is." He paused on his way back to the bathroom, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock. "Since you're obviously not going to be lying down anyway, would you run upstairs and grab her another set of pyjamas, please?" And then he disappeared into the bathroom, kneeling down beside Katherine and pulling her gently into his arms, fitting the thermometer under her tongue.

Sherlock sighed, wanting to see Katherine. He slowly pushed himself up from the bed, looking around the room and just deciding to go down the hall shirtless. God knew where his clothes and things, let alone his dressing gown, had ended up. Probably gone; he wouldn't blame John.

It felt like it took forever to get up the stairs, and he had to take a break during the climbing.

He looked in the room, seeing it painted light green with little flowers at the ceiling boarder. He smiled, though it fell from his lips as he looked down at the puddle of sick on Katherine's bed. He walked over, carefully balling up her bedding and putting it in a hamper before grabbing a pair of pyjamas, cooler ones since she no doubt had a fever, and started the trek back downstairs. 

***

Katherine whined a little as her Papa picked her up, and she held the thermometer under her tongue. She rested her head on his shoulder, humming softly, a small noise of discomfort coming from her.

"I know, baby," John murmured, pushing her hair back from her forehead to try and keep her cool. "I hate being sick, too," he said, taking out the thermometer when it beeped. "Thirty-nine. Yeah, you're a little warm." He rubbed her back, holding her hair when she went to throw up again. "I'm sorry," he said, handing her a glass of water so that she could rinse her mouth.

Katherine wailed again, drinking down the water and spitting into the toilet. "T-took medicine!" she whined, coughing a little and staying curled up on John's lap.

Sherlock eventually made his way back down with the purple nightgown for Katherine. He cautiously entered the bathroom, moving to sit on the edge of the tub, because he had to sit. "I brought this for you, sweetheart," he said, realising he hadn't called her that in two years.

Katherine sniffled, not reacting to the term, as if him calling her that was normal. "S'hot..." she complained, clinging onto the toilet bowl when she was sick again.

John held her hair again and rubbed her back, waiting for it to calm down. He knew that eventually they'd peak out, and she'd only throw up once an hour or two, but until then, at was all random. "Papa thought you had a cold, sweetie," he murmured. "I was wrong, baby, and I'm sorry. They don't really made medicine for the flu."

Katherine leant back against him. "They should!" she said, kicking one foot stubbornly on the floor. She hiccupped a little, drinking water again to rinse out the horrible taste.

Sherlock watched her carefully, holding his side lightly, which was bleeding a small bit, but he wasn't worried about that.

"It'll go away soon enough, Katherine," he said quietly. "Stomach flu goes by much faster than a cold, even if it does seem worse," he said gently. 

Katherine sniffled a little, slipping her thumb into her mouth as she stayed curled up on her Papa's lap, hair sticking to her forehead.

John leant against the counter of the sink, holding Katherine protectively in his arms. Christ, he was exhausted, and he really wasn't sure how this day could get any more stressful. He really didn't want to challenge the universe and say that out loud, either. He held Katherine steady as she sicked up again, but it was mostly just dry heaves this time, and then she collapsed back against him, exhausted as well.

"Come on, baby," he murmured, picking her up carefully and motioning for Sherlock to follow as he walked back into their bedroom. "You can sleep with us tonight."

Katherine whined a little when she was picked up, sucking on her thumb again as she was carried into the bedroom. Sherlock followed, purple nightie in his hands. "Here," he said, handing it to John and walking around the other side of the bed. He supposed it was good that the stab was on his right side, facing away from where John and Katherine would be, and he could curl on his side.

He paused a moment though as John dressed her and situated on the bed. He thought about how he'd woken up, what he did to John. He couldn't risk that with Katherine in the bed. "I... maybe I should..." he trailed off, hand still loosely on his side.

"No," John said firmly, climbing into bed and situating Katherine on the outside, so that she could get out easily if she had to. "You’re sleeping in here and that's that. Lay down." There was no room in his tone for argument, and he wasn't past hitting Sherlock if he disagreed with him on this. He was tired and concerned and stressed, and by god, Sherlock had better listen to him.

Sherlock hesitated a moment, then sighed, climbing into bed. He rolled carefully over onto his side and up against John. John was in the middle, though he would have liked Katherine there, but he understood the need for her to be able to get up. He sighed a little, resting his head on John's shoulder, looking worriedly at Katherine, who had already fallen asleep, thumb in her mouth. He reached over and rested his hand on her side, as she had curled up inwards towards John. 

Despite not wanting to, Sherlock fell asleep, needing to catch up on sleep and still recovering from blood loss as well as malnutrition. He slept like the dead, hardly stirring when John moved. 

John didn't fall asleep, sandwiched between the two people he loved most in the world. Katherine woke up four more times before morning hit, and he got up with her every time to hold her hair and sooth her, then to bring her back to bed. It was nearing seven a.m. now, and Katherine was awake, plucking at John's shirt. He sighed, looking down at her. "Would you like a bath?" he asked, combing his fingers through her hair.

Katherine was picking at the little fuzzies on her Papa's shirt when he spoke to her and she looked up at him. She sniffled a little, nodding silently. She was tired, and still didn't feel good, though she hadn't gotten sick in a few hours. "Mhm," she hummed quietly, lifting her head up a little to see Sherlock sleeping still. "Mm want bath," she said.

"Alright," John whispered, wishing he was in a normal position and could just kick Sherlock awake and make him do it while he got some well-needed sleep. But he was the only one right now who didn't technically  _need_  to be taken care of, so he didn't make Sherlock wake up.

He walked into the bathroom, starting the bath to a lukewarm temperature and then going back into the bedroom to pick up Katherine.

Katherine had rolled onto her side as she heard the bathwater filling, looking at Sherlock. She blinked, touching his face lightly. She pulled her hand away when Papa came back in and helped her to the bathroom.

He helped her undress and slip into the tub, then sat on the toilet seat, resting back against the wall.

She sat in the water, the warm water making her feel a little better. She sniffed, taking the bottle of bubble bath and putting two pumps, swishing the water with a hand to make some bubbles. She leant back in the tub, looking at them. Bubbles weren't as fun when you didn't feel good.

John stared up at the ceiling, his hands folded in his lap as he waited for Katherine to finish. He thought about very little while he was waiting, but did he think about what the hell he was supposed to do now.

Katherine sat in the water for a little bit, grabbing one of her bath toys from the mesh net hanging on the tub and fiddled with it. She looked over at John before leaning over and resting her arms and chin on the edge of the tub. "Whas' wrong, Papa?" she asked, head tilting to the side.

John looked down at Katty – his perceptive little Katherine – and couldn't help his smile. "Nothing, Katty. I'm just tired, is all. And worried about you and your daddy," he admitted, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Sometimes he wondered why he told Katherine so much, why he treated her like she was so old. And then he remembered how mature she was, and that she had been his only family and really his only company for two years, having all but ignored Harry and his mum.

Katherine sniffed a little, nodding a bit before dunking her head under water to get her hair wet. She popped back up and kicked the plug out of the drain. "Don' worry 'bout me, Papa," she said, climbing out of the tub and standing on the bath rug, reaching out to tug her towel down, carrying it over to John to dry her off. "F-feel little better," she said, which she did. Her tummy wasn't upset anymore, she just felt icky and tired. "Can take care Daddy, and you can... can take nap," she said.

John took the towel from her and dried her off gently, paying extra attention to her hair, as he always did. "I always worry about you, Katty girl. You're my little girl, it's my job to worry about you," he teased, putting the nightgown back on her and leading her back into the bedroom. "Crawl in. I'm going to change Daddy's bandage and then I'll join you," he said, setting his hand in warning on Sherlock's hip before Katherine had completely made it up onto the bed.

Sherlock felt the light pressure on his hip and opened his eyes quickly, turning rapidly to see John standing by his side. He blinked a few times, making his heart slow a little as he saw where John glanced.

Katherine sighed a little when Papa said that he always worried about her, smiling a little though still. She climbed up onto the bed and burrowed under the blankets. They smelled like Papa did, and also like her Daddy now, but it was good. Nice. She looked at him, blinking a few times as she put her thumb in her mouth again.

Sherlock blinked, looking over to see Katherine on John's side of the bed, sucking her thumb lightly. She waved with her fingers, not removing the other digit from her mouth. He relaxed a little, seeing John start to pull away the bandage on his side. He winced, focusing again on Katherine. "Morning, little girl," he said softly. "You feeling any better?" he asked. She nodded a little, looking at him.

John sighed a little at the fresh blood seeping from Sherlock's wound and the crusted blood that covered the stitches. He would have sworn, but, well, Katherine was in the room. He reached down for the med kit at the foot of the bed, popping it open and bringing out some gauze and more rubbing alcohol and gently started cleaning the wound.

"Good thing we're having a lie-in today," he said, wincing internally as he accidentally pulled at the stitches. "I don't want you moving, if you can help it." After tossing the gauze into the bin, he put a fresh bandage over the wound and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock winced, hissing in pain as the rubbing alcohol was put on his side. He groaned, setting his head firmly on the pillow, looking at Katherine again. She pushed herself up, scooting over to look at the stitches, completely not fazed by them. John's daughter too, it seemed.

After John finished, Katherine paused, then also pressed a small kiss to Sherlock's shoulder like her Papa had done. "All better," she said, snuggling back down on the bed, and Sherlock could have sworn his heart melted, and for a minute he didn't even feel the pain in his side.

 "Yes, I think between your Papa and that second kiss, it is," he said gently.

John smiled, moving over to the other side of the bed and crawling under the covers so that Katty was snuggled up between them. "Do you need anything, you two?" he asked, his eyes half-lidded as he stroked his fingers through Sherlock's hair and kissed the top of Katherine's head. "I can stay up if you need me to," he said – he'd stayed up longer before.

Katherine opened her mouth as if to say something, then shook her head. "No, Papa," she said, curling up into a ball. "Mm can take care Daddy," she said with a small yawn, resuming sucking her thumb.

Sherlock looked down at her, smiling softly. "No, I'm fine," he murmured, his side still aching painfully but he'd bothered John enough, and with Katherine sick, John needed rest.

John let out a small breath, curling up on his side and nuzzling against Katty's hair. "I love you both," he murmured softly, his eyes closing fully. It only took a few moments before he fell into a deep sleep, far past the point of dreaming for a long time. 

"Mm love you, Papa," Katherine beat Sherlock to it, and she rolled over looking at Sherlock. Sherlock sighed; she didn't look anywhere near falling asleep yet. They were silent for a little while before, "Where go?" she asked, speaking around her thumb and looking intently at Sherlock.

  _Shite_. Sherlock sighed, thinking for a moment. "Well," he said softly. "I don't think your Papa ever told you, but I'm a detective. I used to help Lestrade... erm, Uncle Greg, catch bad guys," he said quietly. "And when you were little, there was a really big bad guy. And he and his friends wanted to do bad things, to a lot of people. So I had to go away to stop them, so that everyone, including you and your Papa, could be safe," he said softly. "And no one could know," he finished.

Katherine blinked a few times, sniffling. "All bad guys gone?" she asked, "Staying?"

Sherlock smiled sadly.

"Yes, Katty girl, they're gone. And I'm not going anywhere ever again," he said quietly.

She sighed, seemingly satisfied with that answer as she snuggled in between them more. She exhaled softly, shutting her eyes and starting to doze. Sherlock did the same.

\--------------------------------------------------------

The nightmares hit around nine thirty. They started with the usual – re-enactments and replays of the day Sherlock had "died" – but it didn't take long for them to develop into more. Desert scenery, Sherlock being held captive – tortured – by a faceless Alpha. And then it would shift, and John was doing the torturing, was slowly slicing Sherlock open, and then it shifted again and he was tied down and bare, with the faceless Alpha standing over him and scraping his nails down his torso. Sherlock was leaning against the wall and John was screaming for help, but Sherlock only had eyes for the faceless Alpha.

John jumped awake and immediately left the room, tears already forming and threatening to fall. He didn't want Katherine to see. Not when his nightmares had finally stopped coming. He curled up in his chair, pulling his knees up to his chest, and just let himself sob, expelling the emotions he had been trying to suppress. 

Sherlock’s eyes blinked open from his light sleep when he felt it, the now unfamiliar but unmistakable tug of his bond with John, even if it wasn't quite as strong as it once was. They would fix that. He opened his eyes as John left the room, and Sherlock looked down to see Katherine still asleep. Good. He forced himself to sit up carefully.

Screw doctor's orders, he wasn't staying in bed. He hobbled down the hall as quick as he could and found John in his chair. He felt his heart break again and he walked over to him. "John?" he asked softly, wondering what had happened in the dream, no doubt something different than Afghanistan. Sherlock had given him much more to have nightmares about. "John, it's okay. I'm here... and you're here," he said quietly, standing by him, waiting for any indication of an invitation to curl up with him.

John choked back another sob, trying to keep himself quiet to let Katherine keep sleeping. Unable to speak, he just opened up his arms and pulled Sherlock onto his lap, holding onto him tightly and burying his face in his shoulder.

Sherlock winced a little as he was tugged forward, letting out a breath as he let John's face settle near his neck, hoping to soothe him a little despite his altered scent.

"Don't leave me," John gasped out in a shaky voice, clinging tightly to Sherlock. He wasn't sure if he meant in the long run or right then and there, maybe he just meant in general, but he didn't want to be left alone again. 

"No John, never again. That's why I went through all that, so I could never leave you both again. Never," he said quietly. "I promise, no force on the planet could stop me coming home, they already tried. I promised you I would always come back," he said quietly. 

John nodded, though he didn't know exactly what he was agreeing to. He held Sherlock until he had calmed down, then just stroked through his hair, nuzzling against his neck.

He sucked down a deep breath, telling Sherlock the dream before he could think of reasons not to. He wanted to trust him again, and he knew that telling him this would be a huge step in that. "I'm sorry for waking you," he murmured, his breathing finally settled out.

Sherlock swallowed thickly when John told him about the dream, holding him even closer. "Oh my god, John I... I'm sorry," he said, nuzzling against his neck. "That would never happen... I couldn't. I didn't love him. What he did to me, I... he couldn't do it. We still had our bond, you didn't let go of it even though you had every right to," he said.

Since death hadn't severed the bond, perhaps John had thought he was just lingering on Sherlock. Sherlock knew it had to be torture, thinking the bond was still there when he knew it shouldn't be. But John hadn't let go of it, and it had saved him, all of them. Sherlock would never have finished if he didn't have that bond. "I'm back now, forever. And we'll fix the bond again, I promise," he said. "I'm yours, and no one else's."

"I couldn't let you go," John whispered, kissing up Sherlock's neck to his jaw. "Even when I thought you were dead, I couldn't let go of the bond. I just... you were mine, you  _are_ mine, and I couldn't..." his voice broke, and he bit his lip. "I'm sorry. But I'm glad I didn't let you go." He drew in a shaky breath. "When... when do you go into heat again?" he asked, wanting to know so that they could plan around it.

Sherlock sighed a little, loving the sound of the word “mine” on John's lips, even though it didn't tug nearly as much on the bond as it should have. "’m overdue, actually," he said quietly. He tilted his head up to look at John's eyes. "By a few weeks I think," he sighed. "Stress and malnutrition and such can throw cycles off, you know that. You're a doctor," he murmured. He leant against John more.

"Best just to wait for my side to heal a bit, arrange for it and I guess induce it when we're done situating Katherine," he murmured. "Get it back on track."

John nodded, nibbling and licking up Sherlock's neck. "I love you, Sherlock. I love you so much," he whispered, nipping at Sherlock's earlobe and then nuzzling against his hair.

Sherlock hummed, leaning against John, being held for the first time in years. "Mm love you too, John, always. My John... mon John," he murmured, pressing small kisses to John's chest. He sighed, shutting his eyes as he rested against John, able to push away the ache in his side for the most part.

John smiled, running his fingers down Sherlock's spine. "What were you telling me the other day? When you were talking in French?" he asked, brushing his lips down Sherlock's cheekbone and over his jaw.

Sherlock sighed a little, swallowing. "I was calling you mine. And apologising, always apologising. Saying I would never leave again," he also said please several times, begging John almost, for what though he didn't know. For him to not send him away? For him to forgive him? Never let him go? He let out a breath, nuzzling against John's neck.

"Oh, love," John breathed, cradling Sherlock's head against his shoulder. "I forgive you," he murmured, brushing his lips against Sherlock's temple. "And yes, I'm yours and you're mine and nothing is ever going to change that."

Sherlock nodded a little, feeling so small, but it was okay this time. He had John. He hummed a little, sighing lightly. "Mm... Nothing at all," he said quietly. He blinked his eyes open when he heard small footsteps, and a frazzle-haired Katherine walked in rubbing her eyes.

"Papa, I'm hungry," she said, looking at the two of them. Sherlock was in her spot on Papa's lap.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand, looking over at their daughter. "Alright baby. How do crackers sound? Maybe with some jam on them?" he asked, gently shifting Sherlock off of his lap and taking Katty's hand as he wandered into the kitchen in search of the food he had suggested.

Katherine nodded, climbing up onto her booster seat on one of the kitchen. Sherlock wandered into the kitchen as well, pulling open the fridge and grabbing the box of what he knew was spring rolls, popping it into the microwave before sitting down adjacent to Katherine.

John quickly made up a few crackers for Katty, placing them on a plate in front of her, before he started the kettle and walked over to the cabinet, pulling out two mugs and a glass. He filled the latter with water for Kat, setting it down in front of her, then made the tea for himself and Sherlock.

The spring rolls finished before he had sat down, so he grabbed them from the microwave and placed them in front of Sherlock. He finally took his seat, nursing the mug of tea between his palms.

"Thanks Papa," Katherine said, picking up a cracker and nibbling on it a little. Sherlock nodded silently at John when the rolls and tea were passed to him and he rested his elbow on the table as he normally did, begrudgingly eating a roll.

It had been almost four days, and he never allowed himself to starve for longer. So he made himself eat, not realising that Katherine was sitting much the same way, eating the crackers, looking worn out still, and a bit off colour. 

John chuckled, looking between the two of them and shaking his head. "My god, it's like you're clones," he teased, taking a longer sip of his tea before he pointed at Sherlock. "And you're going to start eating at least one meal a day. Isn't that right, Katty?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow a little, looking over at Katherine, who was also looking at him. "What's clone?" she asked, blinking a few times.

"Your Papa means a copy," Sherlock said, looking down at the spring rolls. "And I don't get that hungry these days," he said, taking another small bite. 

Katherine sniffled a little. "Papa says s’bad to skip food," she said matter-of-factly.

John grinned again, reaching over to squeeze Katty's hand. "You didn't eat much when we first met, either, and I got you up to three solid meals a day. Just one meal, Sherlock. That's all I'm asking," he said, stealing one of Katherine's crackers and pretending to eat it, hiding it in his hand under the table as he sometimes did.

Katherine was paying attention to Sherlock speaking, looking over when John took one of her crackers. "Papa don't! Thas my cracker!" she said, reaching for his hand only to see it gone. "Ate it!" she said accused, though a small smile was on her face.

"It was delicious," John said, winking over at Sherlock. He licked his lips and hummed in exaggeration until Kat laughed, and then he gave it back, ruffling her long curls.

Katherine giggled as the cracker was returned, shoving the whole thing in her mouth and chewing it.

Sherlock sighed. "Correction, you got me up to two meals, and then again when you came back.  _Katherine_  got me up to three meals a day plus snacks, and that's just because she made me eat so much," he said with a small smile, looking at her.

"Oh, and I'm cutting your hair soon, too," John said, turning to Sherlock. It was just this side of too long, and he was going to fix that.

Sherlock reached up and touched his hair, nodding a little. "At least it's the right colour again," he murmured quietly. "I can't pull off blond, and the ginger was just weird," he said.

John blinked a few times before he realised that of course Sherlock would have dyed his hair. He was glad he hadn't seen it - it would have only upset him. "I'm glad it's back to this, too," he said, combing through it before he stood. "Finish that roll, and then I want you back in bed," he said, sounding more like a doctor than he had meant to.

Sherlock blinked a few times, looking at the roll in his hands. Katherine looked at Sherlock, as if wondering what he did to have Papa use his 'doctor' voice at him. She finished her crackers, drinking down some water from her glass. "Papa, can watch telly now?" she asked quietly.

John smiled down at her. "Sure, love. You go on ahead and turn it on. I'm going to go get dressed and then run down the street to get Daddy some medicine, alright?" He kissed her forehead before walking down the hall, making a pit stop in the bathroom to brush his teeth, and then quickly pulled on some jeans and a jumper. "I'll be back in a short bit," he told Sherlock when he returned to the kitchen, kissing his temple and then his lips.

Sherlock watched as Katherine happily slid off the chair and padded into the living room, tugging a blanket down from the sofa and dragging it over to his chair, curling up in the leather seat and turning on the telly. Sherlock sighed a little, his seat had been taken over by his 'clone,' apparently. He smiled, looking down at the last roll, before his head was tilted up to kiss John.

"Can't really go to bed now, can I? Need to watch her," he said quietly, happy for the excuse. "Love you," he said.

"Lie down on the sofa," John whispered, kissing Sherlock again, happy to have him home. Though he was afraid that at any moment he was going to blink and Sherlock would be gone.

"You need to stop putting strain on your stitches," he said, kissing him one last time before backing away. He grabbed his wallet and keys, shrugging on his jacket as he walked out of the door with one last, "Bye, Katty."

"Bye-bye Papa," Katherine said as she still watched the telly.

Sherlock got up slowly, setting his plate in the sink. He moved over to the sofa and laid down on it, stretching out.

Katherine blinked a few times, slid off her chair and walked over with the blanket around her. She walked up to the sofa. "Can sit with you?" she asked quietly. Sherlock blinked a couple times, then nodded.

"You have to be really careful though okay?" he said, patting the left side of himself that was tucked against the sofa back. "Climb up by my legs, then settle here, but slow babe alright?" he said.

Katherine nodded quickly, gently climbing up and tucking herself between the sofa and Sherlock, laying out the blanket on them and resting her head on his chest. His hand moved up to weave into her curls, as he didn't need to cradle her like he once did. Eventually Sherlock dozed off, Katherine still watching the telly, curled up where she was.

***

John smiled as he walked down the street, slipping quickly into the pharmacy and buying some painkillers - strong ones - with a flash of his credentials. Once they were in a paper bag, he started home, quickly trotting up the stairs and unlocking the door.

He paused over the threshold and smiled down at Sherlock and Katherine. He held his finger up to his lips for Katherine to keep quiet as he slowly took off his jacket, then moved to settle into his chair.

Katherine smiled as John came back inside, nodding silently with a glance at Sherlock, whose jaw hung open slightly as he slept. Katherine sighed a little, slowly climbing off of the sofa after a few minutes to go up and kiss her Papa on the cheek. She rested on the armrest of the chair for a moment, then gasped a little.

"Have go potty!" she said quickly in a hushed voice, dashing down the hall. 

Sherlock's arm moved a little, feeling the suddenly empty space next to him that was cooling. He shifted a little, stirring slightly. "Mmm." 

John glanced down the hall after his daughter, then looked back over at Sherlock. He walked over, easing into the spot Katherine had left and resting his head on Sherlock's chest. "You're alright, love," he promised in a hushed tone, splaying his hand across Sherlock's torso. "I've got you."

Sherlock's brow furrowed a little, and a soft whimper rose from him. His face smoothed out after a moment and he hummed a little, his hand moving up into John's hair. He swallowed, settling a bit.

John hummed quietly, glancing at the television screen before looking over at the empty hallway. "That's a good boy," he whispered, nuzzling against Sherlock's shoulder. "You're alright. I'm not letting anyone hurt you, ever again," he promised.

Sherlock hummed, his head turning towards John's scent as he settled more, mumbling in French under his breath again, breathing steady. There was a flush from down the hall and Katherine came back out again, looking at the two of them.

"Took my spot, Papa," Katherine whispered a quietly, climbing up onto the sofa and curling up in the gap between their legs, not wanting to hurt Sherlock. She leant against the other armrest, pulling the blanket on her a little and watched the telly again.

"Sorry, baby," John whispered, combing through Sherlock's hair. He reached down and took Katherine's hand, squeezing it gently. He closed his eyes after a moment, relaxing against Sherlock as sensory memories flooded him and he recalled doing this countless times before. He smiled, humming softly as he drifted slowly off to sleep.

Sherlock shifted a little, humming quietly. He blinked his eyes open a little while later, looking down by his feet to see a sleeping Katherine curled up there. He tilted his head a little, looking at John, watching his face as he slept. He smiled a little, staying silent as his two people slept.

\-----------------------------------------------------

John stirred after a couple hours, tightening his hold on Sherlock as he blinked his eyes open. "Hey," he whispered, nuzzling against his shoulder. He looked down by their feet, smiling a little at Katherine before looking back up at Sherlock. "How's your side?"

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirked up slightly when John woke up. Katherine had stirred a little, and Sherlock gently rubbed her stomach with one foot until she settled again, still sleeping off her flu.

Sherlock let out a breath. "Feels like it was stabbed and lit on fire, but I've had worse," he said quietly, nuzzling closer to John. "Should see the brand I've got on my back. One of them worked with metal in their down time," he murmured sleepily. That had happened in the first year, within six months. He got faster after that, wouldn't be taken by surprise again.

John looked at Sherlock in horror, his stomach rolling at the thought of Sherlock being branded. "Oh. My god," he whispered, not really knowing what else to say, just lifting his fingers to comb through Sherlock's hair. "I'm so sorry, baby," he whispered, leaning down to kiss him gently.

Sherlock leant into the touch on his head. He pressed back carefully into the kiss, brushing his nose against John's. "It's okay. Sounds worse than it is, and really it could stand for anything. Harrison & Co., an H just between my shoulder blades," he said. He tried to make light of it a little, letting out a sigh. “I could just tattoo a J and a W on either side of it," he offered quietly. "’m yours after all. JHW," he said, kissing John's face with each letter.

John made kind of a choked laughing sound, because he figured if he didn't laugh, he was going to start crying. "You're mine. Always, always mine." He kissed Sherlock more firmly, scraping his teeth against his bottom hip. "I love you so much," he whispered, cupping his cheek, lightly running his thumb across his cheekbone.

Sherlock hummed, nipping at John's lip in return. He tasted at the inside of John's mouth, one hand at the back of John's neck. He blinked his eyes open, pulling away a fraction. "Um, John? I have a three year old tangled up in my legs asleep, with a knife wound in my side... maybe now's not the time, because I assure you, we continue like that and it could happen," he said quickly in a low voice, leaning up to kiss John again.

John chuckled, kissing Sherlock chastely. "Alright. There are painkillers on the table, go on to bed; I'm going to take Katherine up to her room."

John eased himself to his feet, lifting Katty gently into his arms and carrying her upstairs. He set her down in the rocking chair for a moment to make the bed that Sherlock must have stripped, then eased her under the covers.

"You’re alright, baby," he murmured when she stirred. "Go back to sleep." He kissed her forehead and rubbed her tummy, and then quickly retreated down the stairs.

Sherlock watched John move up the steps carrying a limp Katherine and eventually worked himself up off of the sofa. He picked up the small bag, pulling out the bottle of pills, reading the label before shaking two in his hand. He swallowed them dry, slowly hobbling down the hall. By the time he got to the room he could hear John's steps following him. He turned, looking down at the filthy trousers he was still wearing.

"Um... don't suppose I could borrow some pyjamas? I'm sure you don't have my things anymore so, just until I'm better?" he asked.

John glanced at Sherlock for a moment before walking over to the dresser and pulling out a pair of Sherlock's pyjamas, tossing them at him. "I still have all of your clothes," he said softly as he undressed, pulling on his own pyjamas.

"On the really bad days, I'd take them out and smell them. Of course, the smell eventually faded, but I couldn't... I couldn't get rid of them." He walked over to the bed and slipped under the covers, turning down Sherlock's side.

Sherlock caught the clothes, looking at them before looking up at John again when he explained. He nodded, pulling on the clothes. He sighed a little, reaching into his pocket of his trousers and handed the weathered and creased photo of him and Katherine.

"This was what I had, kept it with me all the time. Looked at it every day," he said quietly, easing himself onto the bed with a sigh.

John looked at the photo, recognising it immediately. He rolled onto his side, snuggling up against Sherlock. "I love you," he murmured, closing his eyes. He tangled their legs together before he could drift off to sleep, making sure that Sherlock wasn't going anywhere. "Try to sleep," he whispered, before finally falling asleep.

Sherlock's forehead rested against John's, and he let out a breath, pressing close to him. He watched John sleep for a little while, finally feeling the pull of the drugs after the pain dulled away. He blinked a few times, then found his eyes wouldn't open, and then he fell asleep, knowing no more. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Katherine woke up a little later, thirsty. She rolled over, waking to find herself in her bed. She rolled out of it and padded down stairs, pushing a chair against the counter and climbing up to get a plastic cup and filling it up at the sink. She sipped at her water, looking around the empty living room and hearing snoring from Papa's room. She set her cup down, padding down the hall and poking her head in.

They were tangled up together, and Katherine stared for a minute, wondering where she squeezed in. Finally she stretched a little, then sneaked in under the blankets at the foot of the bed, slinking under and curling up at the foot in a gap in their legs, dozing lightly there under the covers.

John stirred a little, feeling a small disturbance on the bed, but it wasn't nearly enough to wake him up. He slept soundlessly for a few more hours, lulled by the soft sound of Sherlock's snore, before something much more urgent woke him. His eyes popped open and he furrowed his eyebrows, wondering for a moment what it was before his stomach rolled again. 

 _God damn it._  

He pushed out of bed, making for the bathroom and kneeling down in front of the toilet just in time to get sick. He grimaced at the taste, flushing the toilet and leaning back against the wall. Lovely, he had what Kat had. Sherlock was probably going to get it too, now. He groaned, pressing a hand to his stomach as he leant forward and threw up again.

Sherlock didn't wake up when John got out of bed, the drugs making him sleep heavier than normal. It wasn't until a small hand pressed to his face that he started to stir.

"Daddy?" Katherine asked in a small voice. "Wake up... Papa's sick," she said quietly, having woken up when John did.

Sherlock hummed, opening his eyes when he realised that was the first time she had called him Daddy directly, other than when she first said Dada the day he left. Sherlock blinked a few times, then heard the retching. "You wait here Katty girl," he said, touching her head lightly and slowly moving into the bathroom. His side didn't hurt nearly so much now with the painkillers. "John?" he asked, stepping inside.

John groaned, banding his arm across his stomach and keeping his eyes closed. Christ, no wonder Katherine had put up such a fuss over it. This was a bitch of a flu. "Go away. I don't want you getting this, too," he gritted out, trying to fight down the next wave that hit him, but it was pointless, and he ended up throwing up into the toilet again. He leant back, stripping out of his sweat-soaked shirt and tossing it to the floor. He wondered briefly how high his temperature was, but decided it didn't matter. Katherine's had broken, so would his.

"A virus incubates before the symptoms are apparent, and considering you and I were just snogging not two hours ago, I would say I am going to get it regardless," Sherlock said, easing himself onto the floor and leaning against John's back, rubbing it lightly. He knew it wasn't the best idea for him to get sick – he'd lost blood and was already poorly – but he wasn't leaving John alone again.

John made a small noise, unable to do much else. "Don't lean on me," he whispered, gasping a little as his stomach twisted. "Hot. It's really... hot." His body trembled, and a few moments later he was getting sick again. His muscles were tight and achy, and Jesus fuck, was it hotter? "Thermometer," he demanded, pointing weakly to where he had put it.

Sherlock sighed, sitting up a little and reaching up to the counter to get the thermometer. He stood up carefully, getting a flannel down and wetting it down with cool water, wringing it out. He sat back down carefully and waited for the device to beep before carefully draping the flannel over John's shoulders and around his neck.

John shivered at the cool water on his neck, sucking in a sharp breath at the shock of it. He looked down at the thermometer, holding it closer to see it better. He chewed on his lip, hoping that he was reading it wrong. "Tell me what that says," he requested, holding the device out to Sherlock as he leant over the toilet and got sick again. He had thought he had read forty-two, but that wasn't... that wasn't possible.

Sherlock winced a little, looking at it. "You're forty," he said, wiping the towel down his back. "You're hot, and I mean that in a not good way," he said quietly, wetting down his towel again. "Do you want to go to the hospital?" he asked. "John, tell me what to do." 

John shivered again, shaking his head before he got sick again. Honestly, what was he even throwing up anymore? "Give it another hour or until my temperature goes up. Whichever comes first," he said, flushing the toilet and banding his arm across it so that he could rest his head on something.

"Can you go check on Katty? Make sure she's okay?" he asked, not wanting her to come in here on her own.

Sherlock nodded, wiping his neck again. "Okay, you sit tight for a minute," he said, standing up and walking into the bedroom. Katherine was sitting on the bed, looking apprehensive.

"Hey, Katty girl, it's alright. Papa just has what you had last night. One of those things that go around really fast," he said quietly. She sniffed a little, looking at the door.

"Papa going to get better?" she asked nervously.

"Of course, Katty, he'll be fine, just like you are fine. Why don't you go and watch some telly for a bit, and I'll just check on Papa, okay?" he asked. She nodded, slipping out of the room and down the hall. Sherlock heard the telly turn on and walked into the bathroom.

"She's fine," he murmured, refreshing the cloth on John's neck and replaced it.

John nodded, managing a weak, "Good," before he threw up again. Now he was getting down to clearer fluid, and the taste was more acrid in his mouth, but his body was refusing to give up. "Katherine was done by this point, wasn't she?" he asked quietly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and flushing the toilet. He shivered, his muscles tightening further. He wasn't sure if the cool cloth was helping or hurting at this point, though his medical knowledge told him that it would be helping.

"Pretty much done yeah, but she's much smaller than you," Sherlock said quietly. "What can I do John?" he asked, looking at the shorter man. His Alpha, he wanted this better. "Maybe take a cool shower? You're down to clear fluid now, if you're sick again it can go down the drain, and we need your fever down," he said, helping John up gently.

Standing was the last thing John wanted to do, and shivering in the shower was pretty low on his list, but he didn't have the strength to argue or resist. So he let Sherlock strip him of the rest of his clothes, groaning and ducking for the toilet again while Sherlock turned on the shower.

Sherlock eased John into the shower, adjusting the water to be somewhat warmer.

John sucked in a sharp hissing breath when he was led inside, his body immediately working itself into wracking shivers. "F-fucking h-he-ell," he stammered, standing under the water, unable to do much with how tight his muscles were. He threw up again, nearly falling over from it.  _Fluids_ , his mind nagged at him, but he probably couldn't keep anything down if he wanted to.

"Just a few minutes okay?" Sherlock said. He peeked out down the hall, seeing Katherine on the sofa, sleeping a bit still. Poor thing was still tired, that meant John was going to be sleeping soon too.

He pulled off his pyjamas, gently peeling off the bandage as it would fall off soon anyway. He climbed into the cool shower and stood behind John, wrapping his arms around him as he kissed his neck. "Try and relax your muscles. You held Katherine when she had it, now I'm going to hold you," he said quietly.

"I c-can't," John said, shivering against Sherlock, though it felt nice to be held. Better, but that was just the comfort of it. His muscles were still locked up, though, and he braced himself against the shower wall as he threw up again, not liking that there was colour coming back into it.

"Ha-ate to d-do this to y-you and Kat-tty," he forced out through his clattering teeth, "b-but I sh-should probably g-go in-n." He didn't say that he wanted someone there for when Sherlock got sick as well. That would just be an added bonus.

Sherlock nodded, swallowing nervously. "I'll call Mycroft," he said, shutting off the water and carefully getting out of the tub. He helped John out and wrapped a towel around him, leading him to the room. "I would take Katherine downstairs but... Mrs Hudson would probably have a heart attack," he said quietly. He sighed, helping John dress. "Mycroft will have a story for my return. Government work, an alibi. I can come back and everything will go back to normal. He'll just have to enact it a little sooner if we're going in," he said, getting dressed himself and sending a message to Mycroft. A few actually.

"I'm going to get Katherine dressed," he said, walking out to the living room and popping another pill. Just one so he didn't get tired. He'd already had more rest than he had had in ages, so he felt better than he had in weeks. "Katty, sweetie we need to get you dressed, we're going to take Papa to the doctor," he said, waking her up gently and leading her upstairs, not able to carry her like he wanted to.

***

John walked slowly over to the dresser, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt, knowing that he was going to be changing out of them soon anyway. His stomach gave a warning and he dashed for the bathroom, dropping down in front of the toilet and getting sick again. He dry heaved for a while this time before his body finally expelled something, and when he pulled back, the toilet water was slightly pink. He quickly flushed before Sherlock could see, shakily pushing himself to his feet and stumbling into the living room to wait for Sherlock.

***

Sherlock came back down with Katherine in toe, dressed and with a backpack on her back full of books and some toys, as well as a few colouring books. "Mycroft's car will be here by now, come on," he said gently, taking John's hand and leading them both downstairs slowly. He looked at John, frowning a little as he wiped the corner of his mouth, which was pink. Concern was spelled across his face, but he stayed silent for Katherine's benefit.

"Okay little girl, inside," he said, ushering her into the car and helping John inside, wincing a little himself as he got situated.

John knew he'd been found out as soon as Sherlock wiped at the corner of his mouth, but he didn't say anything because Sherlock didn't. He slowly climbed into the car, lying down across the seat with his head in Sherlock's lap as soon as he could. "It's alright, Katty," he whispered with a smile, reaching out and squeezing her hand. He closed his eyes as soon as the car started moving, focusing intently on not getting sick.

Katty sniffled a little, smoothing down John's hair carefully. Her face was pinched in nervousness and she pressed close to Sherlock. He winced a little, as she was on his right side, but said nothing. He started to stroke John's hair carefully too. "We really need to stop going to hospital, John; they're going to just keep a room on hand for us eventually," he murmured gently. He leant over and pressed a small kiss to Katherine's head, not liking how quiet she was being.

John gave a small smile, holding tighter to Katty's hand. He knew she only got this quiet when she was really worried or upset, and she hadn't been like this for a while. "I'm not going anywhere, baby," he promised, opening his eyes for a moment to look up at her. "I promise you, I'm not going anywhere. Papa will always be here to annoy you and make you eat your vegetables," he teased as best as he could.

Katherine nodded a little, settling down on the seat more, her thumb slipping into her mouth as she rested her head against Sherlock's arm.

"Just the flu," Sherlock murmured, touching John's forehead again. He still felt hot, though thankfully it didn't feel like his temperature had gone up anymore.

Sherlock helped them both out of the car when they arrived at the hospital, a nurse they knew already waiting; Mycroft spared no time. She took John, directing Sherlock to wait in the waiting room. He didn't want to, but instead he pressed a kiss to John's burning forehead. "I'll see you soon," he said, walking over to a padded bench with Katherine.

***

John didn't want Sherlock to leave him, but he also didn't want Katherine to be there, and he wasn't ignorant enough to ignore hospital protocol, so he didn't protest. He laid down on the stretcher when one was placed in front of him, closing his eyes as he was pushed off to a room. He asked for a bucket, and as soon as he got one, he threw up in it. The blood was much more prominent this time.

"I'll be right back," the nurse said, running off to get a doctor, though John was pretty sure he already knew what it was.

He went in and out of consciousness for a while, zoning out most of the blood work that had to have taken a handful of hours. He looked over and saw a fluid drip inserted into his arm, and as soon as he noticed the bucket, he threw up in it. Redder. Deep red. All red. Not good, not healthy.

He started panicking when the doctor told the nurses to prep him for surgery. What if this was worse than he had thought? What if he died? He knew that was worst-case, but at the same time, his mind wasn't listening. He was having a panic attack on the gurney; something was pushed into his IV line and he almost immediately passed out.

***

Sherlock was getting increasingly annoyed but he didn't show it. He watched Katherine colour, reassuring her when she asked where Papa was. Was Papa okay? When was Papa coming back? Did he need a shot? Because she didn't like shots. And then finally, "Did I make Papa sick?" she asked, the guilt there far more than it should have been for a three year old.

"Oh, honey, no. Papa must have something else; you didn't have to go see a doctor, did you?" She shook her head. "There, so it's not your fault," he said. "You just colour a little more; I'll be right by the desk talking to someone." Keeping her in his sights, he walked up to the counter. "It's been nearly three hours, and I need to know where my mate is  _now_ ," he said firmly.

The female Beta nurse looked up at Sherlock with slightly wide eyes, taking in his appearance. "Your mate's name?" she asked, immediately searching when she was told. "It appears that he's in surgery at the moment. It's not listed what for, but they've only been in there for fifteen minutes. Must have been a rush, though, if the doctor just claimed the OR with a patient's name." She looked up sympathetically at Sherlock. "Would you like to look at his charts while you wait?" she offered.

Sherlock blinked. "I'm sorry, surgery?" he asked. "Fifteen minutes, as in fifteen minutes during which someone could have told me, his mate, that he was even going in?" he asked, probably harsher than he should have. It wasn't her fault, but Sherlock had gone through too much in the last two years for something to happen.

"I want you to go and find out exactly what is wrong, or find someone who does. And then either they or you are going to come and find me over here by the window with my mate's and my _daughter,_  who is three, and tell me what is wrong, and then you are going to take us both to the room that he will be taken to. Is that understood?" He waited for her almost frightened nod before storming back to his seat, wiping his face blank by the time he reached Katherine again.

The nurse trotted off after quickly getting someone to cover her spot, walking down to the operating section of the hospital. She did a run on John Watson, finding out what she could about what was happening, and then quickly passed the clipboard off to a nurse who knew Sherlock and had dealt with him before.

The new nurse walked out to the waiting room, beckoning Sherlock forward, unsure if a three year old should really be listening to what she was going to be saying.

Sherlock pressed a kiss to Katherine's head, murmuring quietly to her that he would be back. He stood up, walking towards the woman, recognising her. "Tell me," he said, ignoring the fact that she was looking at him odd; yes he knew, he looked rather good for a dead man. "Please," he tacked on at the end.

The nurse sighed lightly, glancing back down at the clipboard to make sure she didn't get anything wrong. "He started vomiting blood. Heavily, and it slowly progressed until that was all that was coming up. They did some blood work and apparently ran some x-rays while he was unconscious, and they found a severely bleeding and ruptured ulcer in his lower oesophagus and another in his stomach." She took a breath, glancing up at Sherlock before finishing up. "Freshest news is that they found a couple more in his stomach and they're rupturing them on purpose so that he doesn't have to come back in later."

Ulcers, caused by stress. Caused by his mate dying and him having to raise a child alone. He swallowed thickly, processing this information. "How bad? What's the projected recovery time? When will he be better?" he asked; he needed data. "When can we see him?" he asked, looking over at Katherine.

 She hadn't spoken since she'd asked if she had gotten John sick. In all likelihood she had, and his vomiting had ruptured the ulcers. But there was no explaining that to a child without her blaming herself. No... This was Sherlock's fault.

The nurse shook her head helplessly. "I don't know. No one's going to know until they get out of surgery, and that length of time is going to depend on the severity of the ulcers." She squeezed his shoulder. "I'll come back for you once he's in a room," she promised, walking back to work.

Sherlock growled a little, hating the incompetence that the hospital seemed to take on in his absence. He sighed, willing to sit there, but he looked back at Katherine, realising she'd only eaten crackers that morning. He walked over, crouching. "Papa's still getting fixed up little one. How about we get you something to eat, hmm? They'll call me if something new happens," he said, holding out his hand.

Katherine blinked, putting her book and crayons away in her bag before sliding off the bench, taking Sherlock's hand. He wanted her to talk to him, but then, he wasn't John. Maybe she was fine with him being there when John was, but otherwise... he was still a stranger to her. He sighed, taking her down to the cafeteria and getting a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some apple slices. He also grabbed a small bag of jelly bears for her and some juice. They brought the food back to the waiting room and he set her up at a small table, Sherlock watching her as she ate.

\----------------------------------------------------------

It was almost a full two hours later when they pulled John out of surgery. The surgeon had him sent off to a room, asking another of the nurses to go and fetch his family.

The nurse walked out into the waiting room, spotting Sherlock and the young pup sitting together almost immediately. "John Watson," she called, tactfully not wanting to draw attention to Sherlock.

The pain pill had worn off a while ago, but Sherlock had stayed where he was. He watched as Katherine played with a Rubik’s cube, the same he'd left in the flat, actually, unsolved because the damned things were impossible. Eventually Katherine had leant on him, and then fell asleep again for lack of a better thing to do, half solved cube falling from her hand.

He looked up when he heard the nurse say John's name and carefully stood, packing up Katherine's backpack. He let out a breath, then lifted her as well, wincing at the tug in his side. "How is he?" he whispered to the nurse, ignoring his pain for now.

The nurse led them from the waiting room as she started to talk. "Unconscious right now. He's stable. All of the ulcers were operated on and patched up, and you won't get any surprises like this one again in the near future," she assured, walking past a second nurse's area and towards a recovery area and the private rooms. "He's lucky, though. There was some internal bleeding in addition to what he was vomiting. Recovery time is sitting at a week for walking. No lifting things heavier than ten pounds for two weeks. Restrictions to baths only. Soft foods for the first five days, to be safe. After two weeks, he should be fine, if a little sore." She paused outside of a room and slowly opened the door. "You're welcome to go in."

Sherlock let out a breath. Stable, and they had a set recovery time, that was good.

Perhaps it was Mycroft, or perhaps the hospital just knew better by now, but they had put John in a double room, the other bed empty. He carried Katherine in and tucked her into the other bed. He would wake her up to see John in a little bit, but he wanted to see John first, gauge how he was.

It hurt to see him like that, laying in a bed with little oxygen nubs in his nose, IV in his arm, and wires on his chest to monitor him. He walked over and gently stroked his face. "John," he whispered. They must have given him something for the fever, as he was cooler. Perhaps they could give it to Sherlock when he got sick. He already felt a bit not good. God... who would watch Katherine?

John furrowed his eyebrows, stirring a bit at the soft touches along his cheeks. He made a small sound, both wanting to turn into them and wanting to turn away, but he couldn't really do either. His eyelids fluttered and he managed to open them, immediately meeting silver-blue ones. "Sherlock..." he rasped, giving a weak smile and tilting his head into his mate's hand. "How're you?"  _How am I?_

Sherlock smiled as soon as John opened his eyes. "I'm fine... Katherine's fine... you're going to be fine too," he said quietly, touching John's hair lightly. He let out a breath, squeezing John's hand. "You were sick, the flu and... the vomiting ruptured a couple ulcers... and then they found more, and removed them," he said quietly, looking down at John's torso.

He knew that it was likely a fairly non-invasive procedure, laparoscopic, like Sherlock's stomach had been. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. For John to have so many of them... the stress of everything, Sherlock's doing.

"Don't," John whispered, shaking his head and reaching up to weakly comb through Sherlock's hair. "Don't put this... on you," he begged, wishing he could kiss away all of Sherlock's self-hate. But he couldn't. He shifted a little on the bed and winced, setting a hand lightly over his stomach. "Text Mrs H on my phone. You're getting warm; someone needs to watch Katty."

"I can't... she'll see me. How else would you have gotten here?” He sighed, running his hands through his hair. He looked over at Katherine, letting out a breath. He didn't want anyone taking her. He just got her back. "I'm fine," he said, looking at John. "Don't move, we don't want you here any longer than you need to be, you know how I feel about these places," he said with a small smile.

"Sherlock..." John tried to protest, but he knew it was no use. He closed his eyes, the pain medication washing through him again. "They're gunna have... to see you 'ventually," he murmured, his eyes slowly closing. He reached for Sherlock's hand and squeezed it. "Take care of yourself," he murmured, rubbing his thumb over Sherlock's knuckles.

Sherlock sighed, squeezing John's hand in return. "Molly gets off work in a couple hours; I can hold out till then, and then she can take Katherine. At least I don't have to worry about cardiac arrest with her," he murmured, not mentioning that she already knew.

"John? Can you maybe try and stay awake for a few more minutes? Katherine is worried, hasn't spoken in hours, and it might be good for her to say hi," he said quietly.

John immediately nodded, blinking and forcing himself to be more alert. "Yeah, where is she?" he asked, unable to really turn his head for as sore as his throat was. He reached up curiously and felt a bandage and the base of his neck.  _Lower oesophagus_. Damn. They had gotten really bad.

Sherlock nodded, taking John's hand from his neck. "They had to go down there too, shouldn't be much of a mark though," he said quietly. "She's laying in the other bed, hold on." he said, stepping away to perch lightly on the other bed, rubbing Katherine's shoulder.

"Katty? Wake up for a minute baby, do you want to say hello to Papa before he takes a nap?" he asked softly. Katherine made a small noise as she was woken, blinking a few times as she sat up, looking at Sherlock. She looked around, seeing the other bed.

"Mm." It was a small, almost scared noise and it broke his heart again. How was it she could do that so easily?

"It's not as bad as it looks, sweetie, come on," he said, lifting her up carefully with a wince and carrying her around to the other side of John's bed, sitting down and letting Katherine be on his lap on her knees so she could see him.

"P-papa?" she asked in a small voice.

"Hey, baby," John said with a bright smile, forcing his hand to lift without shaking so that he could comb through her curls. "How are you, sweetheart? Papa's okay, he's just got a few owies." He cupped her cheek for a moment, then tickled her side for a moment until she gave a small giggle. "There's my brave girl. Everything's alright. It's not your fault Papa's in here. Don't worry."

Katherine reached up to hold John's hand in both of hers, holding it close. She nodded a little, ghost of a smile from the tickling still on her face. "Get better, Papa," she said. "Want go park and play," she said, pressing a small kiss to his palm.

Sherlock rubbed her back, letting out a breath; maybe he'd have to call Molly sooner, he did not feel well. "Hey little girl," he said, getting her attention. "You're going to be visiting Aunt Molly for a little bit today, maybe spend the night," he said quietly, knowing Katherine knew her.

He'd contacted Molly a couple times, especially after the rooftop incident with John. "She's got a nice kitty you can play with, because I'm going to be taking care of Papa," he said quietly, not mentioning that he too was starting to feel sick. She'd just blame herself again.

"Okay, Daddy."

 John smiled at the two of them, noticing the colour rising in Sherlock's cheeks. "Come here, Katty," he said, carefully taking her from Sherlock. "Go ahead and call her, love," he told Sherlock, placing Katherine on the bed beside him. "Soon as I'm better, we'll go to the park, I promise."

Sherlock swallowed, watching carefully as Katherine settled on the bed next to John, eyeing the bandage on his neck nervously.

"Okay. When Papa’s all better," she said quietly. She looked at Sherlock, pointing to the bag.

"Oh, of course," he said, pulling out the piece of paper inside with scribbles that looked somewhat like flowers. "Drew this for Papa," she said, holding it out for John, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. 

Sherlock sent a message to Molly, and she responded instantly, agreeing. No doubt happy she didn't have to lie anymore. Within five minutes she would come upstairs, knocking gently on the door.

John smiled at Katherine, rubbing her back and taking the picture. "It's beautiful, Katty. You're a very good artist." He watched her and Sherlock for the next few minutes before there was a knock on the door and Molly walked in.

"Hello, John," she said with a slightly nervous smile. The last time they had met had not been under the best conditions. "Sherlock," she said with a nod and a brighter smile, walking over to the bed. "Hey Katherine. How are you doing?"

Katherine's face lit up the moment when Molly came in. "Aunt Molly!" she said, holding up the picture. "Drew picture for Papa," she said proudly, drinking up the praise she got for it and wanting more. "I'm good. Was sick, feeling better. Papa's sick though," she said.

"Oh, that's very nice," Molly said with a smile, scooping Katherine up into her arms. "I know you're Papa's sick, that's why you've got to spend some time with me tonight," she said, walking over to grab Katherine's bag. "I'll bring her by in the morning when I come to work then, that alright?" she asked, pausing at the door.

"That's fine, Molly, thank you," John managed, waving goodbye to Katty as they walked away. His strong front immediately dropped, and he sunk down against the mattress, letting out a soft whine. "Poor girl," he murmured, closing his eyes.

Sherlock let out a breath, holding onto his side. "Oh... she'll be fine. Molly will spoil her," he said, swallowing thickly. He'd started to feel a little warm and he stood up, stripping off his coat. He stood in the middle of John's room for a moment before he let out a sigh, walking into the bathroom calmly before his stomach heaved.

His side didn't like that in the least, feeling like it was tearing. He groaned, throwing up again and cursing mentally when he heard a nurse come in to check on John, only to hear Sherlock in the bathroom.

"Go help him," John said, shaking his head defiantly at the nurse. "I'm fine." She gave him a quick once-over before walking into the bathroom, crouching down beside Sherlock and feeling his forehead. "This has been going around," she said calmly. "I'll be right back with the doctor." She quickly left the room, returning a few moments later with an older man in tow.

Sherlock growled a little when the woman left, holding his side firmly still. He didn't want anyone pandering over him. He didn't want that, and he didn't want questions about the knife wound, or the brand, or the various other scars on his body. Or the overall malnourished appearance of him.

He glanced up when she returned with a man, Alpha, and Sherlock tensed slightly. He leant away and tucked himself into the corner like a wounded animal trying to avoid attack. He blinked a few times, finding it harder to think, and  _Christ_  it was warm.

John stiffened on the bed, scenting the air. Beta, Alpha,  _Sherlock._

Fucking hell, really?

He pulled out his IVs and yanked off the oxygen nubs by his nose, throwing off the blankets as the Alpha doctor's scent level increased. "He's sick, you dick, get the hell out," John growled, pushing to his feet and walking over to the bathroom. He leant heavily against the door jam, holding out his hand. "Give me the syringe, and leave," he said, his voice surprisingly level.

Sherlock threw himself back over the toilet, heaving, and barely heard John's voice as it got closer. He coughed a little, looking up and watching the two leave, seeing John in their place. "Joh-... what are you doing?" he asked, almost getting sick again, but managing to hold it down. "G-get back... in be-" he was cut off, heaving again.

"Shh, shh," John soothed, wincing and suppressing a groan as he kneeled down beside Sherlock. "Hold out your arm," he instructed, and he was glad when Sherlock instantly obeyed. He injected him quickly, the medication having to be given intravenous because he would throw up anything else. "You're going into heat. Stupid flu seems to be tumble-weeding a lot of things, hm?" he murmured, resting his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder and setting a hand over the incision on his stomach.

Sherlock shook his head, wincing at the needle in his arm. What had John given him? He shook, pulling back from John before he vomited again, feeling his side tear again. He whimpered. He couldn't go into a heat now. He wasn't supposed to, he was going to wait. He didn't want another two or three months of not feeling all the way like John's. "G-get back in bed, you s-stupid idiot," he tried to scold, curling up close to the porcelain bowl.

"I'm not leaving you, you big git," John said, moving over and pulling Sherlock into his lap. "Stop resisting," he snapped in his Alpha voice. "I'm holding you, and you moving is just going to make it worse on the both of us." He nuzzled against the back of Sherlock's neck, pressing soft kisses to his hot skin.

Sherlock flinched a little, curling up and holding still. Sherlock fidgeted slightly. "I'm going to puke on you," he said, pulling out of John's arms again to throw up again, flushing the toilet when nothing else came out. He tugged at his shirt, too warm. "You... just had surgery," he said, leaning against the cool porcelain with a sigh.

He was too warm, and he hated it. "I can't... I can't have this now, just... stop it. Make it stop," he said, shaking his head, not able to think. Fever from the flu, and then his heat bundled in one, he could hardly understand himself, let alone thing. "Please... please," he mumbled.

John was thankful for the overwhelming pain he was experiencing, or else his hormones would have driven him to take Sherlock and rebond with him right there. "I can't," he whispered, and he hated it. "There's nothing I can do. The medicine will kick in in about fifteen minutes, and that should make you stop throwing up, but until then..." He helped Sherlock out of his shirt, visibly flinching at the brand on his shoulder before he kissed it.

Sherlock curled up on the floor, feeling John's lips on his shoulder. He whimpered a little as he cramped up, curling up into a ball on the linoleum floor. "J-John... going to... hurt yourself," he said. "Nurse said one week to walking, now... g-go to bed," he whined, biting down on his lip. John wasn't helping either of them like this. As much as Sherlock didn't want him to leave, he knew he couldn't help, and he would only put himself at risk.

"Shut up, Sherlock," John growled, nipping at Sherlock's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around Sherlock, splaying his hand over his chest and holding him back against him. His other hand wound into his hair, gently combing through it. He felt like hell, but he didn't care. Hormones were designed for this. His body could produce chemicals to keep him alive for a few days, if need be. Thankfully, need not be, but still. "I'm fine, and you need me, so just deal with the fact that I'm not leaving."

Sherlock whined again, dry heaving into the toilet. He coughed a few times, shivering a little. "I... froze up. When he came in... the doctor," he said, swallowing. It was as if he were afraid of Alphas all over again, but then everyone he'd encountered the last couple years pretty much always tried to kill him. "C-can get in bed, at least," he muttered, trying to stand up some, finally managing and helping John.

John nodded, leaning against Sherlock for a moment. "That's... understandable," he said, nipping at his neck. He walked slowly and carefully over to the door and locked it. No one was getting in until Sherlock's heat was done. Half-stumbling back over to Sherlock, he helped him undress down to his pants and then pulled him into bed, tugging him against his side.

Sherlock's breathing was a little laboured as he laid on the bed next to John. He swallowed thickly, burying his face into John's neck and gulping down his scent. "They... have a key," he said. "N-not stupid," he panted, trying to get John somewhat situated in the bed. "Your... IV," he said. “L-let the Beta nurse do it, mm-medicine for your ulcers and pain," he said. "Please..." he begged.

John's jaw muscle worked as he rubbed his hand over Sherlock's back. "I don't want to wait another three months to mark you again," he said, nuzzling against Sherlock's temple. Though, honestly, once Sherlock got far enough in go the heat, he would probably let him anyway. "And I can put an IV in myself, anyway."

"T-t-too bad," Sherlock bit out, hating he had to say it. "Y-you were puking blood seven hours ago, and just had surgery," he said, curling up again with another whimper as he cramped up once more. "And I don't care! L-let them do their job!" he quipped in a small voice. He hated hospitals, and didn't listen to nurses and such himself, but this was for John, who mattered.

John growled, baring his teeth a little at Sherlock's ordering him around, but he pressed the call button anyway. He had the nurse slip the IV in and then lock the door again on her way out. He rolled onto his side, pulling Sherlock against him and burying his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling a scent that smelled much more like Sherlock now than anything or anyone else.

Sherlock curled smaller when John growled, happy when the nurse came in. She looked over John again, obviously not happy with him moving so soon, but she didn't mention anything. Knowing that John as an Alpha whose mate was in heat... she wasn't going to touch that. She looked over Sherlock as well, checking his side.

"There are some devices we can provide to you that might help ease some of the discomfort since..." she let out a breath, knowing Sherlock knew what she meant. He didn't answer, not knowing what to say. "Well, it's an option love," she said before leaving. Sherlock thought about it, knowing it wasn't the best for John and him to actually... do that. He whined again, curling up.

"You're okay," John murmured, kissing along Sherlock's neck and nibbling against his mark. "I've got you, love, you're fine." He knew that this was probably some of the worst timing that they could have ever gotten, but they could make do, and he could probably convince Sherlock to just let him do it and just get it over with. Who cared if he tore some stitches? He had had worse, he would live.

Sherlock shivered, starting to feel his pants getting a bit damp. He whined a little, nodding as he bit down on his lip. This was his worst heat, had to be, because apart from the flu, he wasn't alone, but John was hurt. "I kn-know," he said, swallowing thickly. 

John continued to shush him, his hormones kicking into overdrive to make up for his injuries. He nuzzled under Sherlock's jaw, nipping and licking at the skin until he was satisfied that that patch smelled equally like both of them, and then he moved on to another section.

Sherlock hummed, relaxing a little more at John's attentions. He blinked a few times though, after a minute or so. "We... we can't, John... you're stitches," he whined, worrying. He knew that before long he wouldn't care, and he hated that.

"Damn my stitches," John said softly, paying close attention to Sherlock's collarbone. He knew he was getting close, almost on that tipping point. "Stitches can be put back in." Granted, ripping them out hurt like hell, but he doubted he would feel much of anything at the time. "Sherlock..." he whispered, his voice promising to take care of it all, to make it all go away, to make him better, to make him John's again.

Sherlock closed his eyes, another whine coming from him that turned almost into a moan towards the end. John's voice gently in his ear. He shivered a little, letting out a breath, his head swarming with bees almost. Well, bees and one word bouncing around  _johnjohnjohnjohn_...

"John..." he said in a small voice, pleading softly as he started to cramp up again.

 _Yes_. John carefully pulled the IV from his arm and let it fall to the floor as he moved to brace himself above Sherlock, crashing their mouths together. He nipped and sucked on his bottom lip, slipping his tongue between Sherlock's teeth and tangling it together with Sherlock's.

Sherlock moaned a little, pressing up back into the kiss, tasting John in return, another small noise rising from him. Sherlock was already flushed, sweat on his brow from his fever, and now he just felt warmer, his breathing in irregular bursts.

John quickly and efficiently stripped Sherlock of his pants, tossing them to the floor. He never broke from the kiss, his hands wandering down over Sherlock's flushed body, feeling every dip, every scar new and old. Everything he had missed in his lover. His mate.  _Mine_. He leant back for a moment, undoing the ties on his hospital gown and discarding it before descending on Sherlock again, nipping and biting his way down his neck to his collarbone.

Sherlock hummed, looking worriedly over John's bandages. He swallowed, whimpering and moaning a little as John's teeth moved down his body. "J-John..." he breathed, his head leaning back into the bed.

"Don't worry about it," John murmured, scraping his teeth over one of Sherlock's nipples. "I've got you, baby," he promised, rising back up and looking down at Sherlock possessively. "On your front," he commanded, shifting back so that Sherlock could move.

Sherlock whimpered softly, looking at John as he sat up again. He blinked a little, rolling over without thought onto the bed, lifting his hips up as he was on his knees, presenting himself shamelessly. He whined into the bed, swallowing thickly.

"Such a good boy," John praised, lowering his head to lap at Sherlock's leaking hole, wiggling his tongue inside. Oh, good Christ, he tasted divine. _My Sherlock. My Omega. Mine._  He quickly pushed a finger in beside his tongue, working Sherlock open as quickly as he could without actually rushing. 

Sherlock soaked up the praise, basking in it. He moaned, sticking himself more in the air. He whined, wriggling a little. "Please... _please_ ," he begged.

John pulled back, pushing Sherlock down a little so that he was at a better level before he lined himself up. "Breathe, love, it's coming," he said, slowly pushing in. He leant forward, banding his arm across Sherlock's chest, holding him tightly as he snapped his hips and connected them the last couple of inches. 

Sherlock whined, his breaths coming in bursts. He moaned when John sank into him, a small cry coming from him when his hips snapped forward. He swallowed, feeling himself stretch slowly around John. He felt so... perfect there, and the full feeling was something he'd wanted... Christ, it was perfect. "John..." he moaned in near reverence, hands balling up in the bedding.

John moaned, nuzzling against the back of Sherlock's neck. "I know, I know," he breathed, instantly starting to thrust his hips forward. There was no semblance of a rhythm – he couldn't feel any pain, but he was still injured – but that somehow made it better. Everything was unpredictable, and the noises Sherlock was making were delicious, pushing him into a faster pace.

Sherlock whimpered, moving his hips a bit in rhythm to John's movements. "Please... please, almost... _fuck..."_  he breathed, tightening up around John.

John swore, his knot going from not swollen to almost full in just a few seconds at the sound of Sherlock begging like that. He pulled Sherlock tighter against him, giving a last hard thrust against his prostate and sinking in all the way, his knot swelling fully as he came. He instantly sunk his teeth into the back of Sherlock's neck, directly over the top of his other mark.

Sherlock cried out again as John swelled up, feeling his teeth sink into his neck. He gasped, coming finally and seeing white. He went limp, trembling as he let out a breath. He hummed a little. "Th-thank you... Thank... oh god, John... my John," he said, feeling an iron cord form that tugged tightly: their bond. It was back again, fixed, made better. 

Something tugged at John's chest, and he nearly cried with relief at the feeling of their bond back in place and as strong as ever. He drew back a little, licking over the bleeding mark on the back of Sherlock's neck. "Always yours, and you're always mine," he promised, positioning them so that they were on their sides. He wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock, ignoring the now prominent screams of pain coming from his stomach. He could damn well hold his mate for a while.

Sherlock rested back against John, closing his eyes as his head calmed a little. He hummed, feeling John's tongue on his new mark, the old tether to Victor decimated. He swallowed. "Mm love you," he murmured quietly. 

"God, I love you too," John whispered, running his hand down Sherlock's stomach. He nuzzled lovingly against his shoulder, kissing his skin. "Rest, now, love. You need it."

Sherlock was starting to catch his breath, and he let it out slowly. "You... need it too," he said, frowning as John's knot started to recede, and he no longer felt as full. He hummed a little. "I need to... text Molly, tell her not to bring Katty in the morning; can't take care of her when I'm... like this," he said. 

John nodded, not wanting to let Sherlock go, but he knew he would return. He loosened his hold, closing his eyes and placing his hand over the bandage on his stomach as Sherlock got out of bed. He wasn't sure how badly he had torn the stitches, but he didn't want Sherlock to worry about him so much. 

Sherlock sighed, not wanting to step away. John pulled out of him gently, and he sat up. "I'm... going to clean up a little," he said, walking to the bathroom and doing so. He pulled on a thin gown and walked out to pick up his phone, messaging Molly. He walked over and helped John, easing him back into a gown and checked his bandages. "You popped only one... amazingly," he said quietly. "Not bleeding much," he said, kissing John. "We should switch beds... this one's a little... anyway," he said softly.

He felt better, still a bit ill, but better than he had before, anyway. And he'd be coherent for at least a few hours. He swallowed, looking at John. "Um... will you fix up my neck? I'll get some more bandages and such," he murmured.

John tried to swat Sherlock's hands away when he went to check his bandages, but as usual, it was no use. He rolled out of bed, moving a bit unsteadily over to the other one, pausing on his way to lean up and give Sherlock a long, slow kiss. "Of course I will," he agreed, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his feet dangling a little off of the floor.

Sherlock smiled against John's mouth and moved to get the supplies he would need to tend to Sherlock's neck, which was throbbing wonderfully. It hurt, but what hadn't in the last two years. He was there with John, and that mattered more than anything.

He sat down on the bed, facing away from John and lifting some of his hair away from his neck.

John rubbed Sherlock's shoulder for a moment before quickly getting to work disinfecting the bite mark, apologising profusely because he knew how much it had to hurt. As soon as it was clean, he bandaged it and put ample amounts of medical tape around the edges to keep it down before setting all the supplies on the ground. He nuzzled against Sherlock's shoulder, scenting him and humming when he only recognised their combined scent. "Thank god," he murmured, licking at Sherlock's skin.

Sherlock hummed, leaning back slightly so John could reach his neck more. He sighed, smiling softly. It was silly, probably, but he turned his neck, showing the other mark on the side of his neck; it hadn't been touched by Victor, thank god. "Bruise it," he said, tilting his neck. "Anything, just... I want them to see it," he said softly, nuzzling close to John, mindful of his bandages.

John smiled, leaning forward and licking up Sherlock's neck. He nipped at one of his tendons, hard enough to leave a red mark, before moving on to the main mark. He clamped his teeth over it without preamble, biting down as hard as he could without breaking skin and sucking. He felt veins pop below the surface, and he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pulling his Omega back against his chest, holding onto him as he kept up the connection for a while longer until he knew the pain would be a bit much, and then he pulled away.

Sherlock hummed, going pliant in John's arms as soon as he bit down on his neck. He winced a little, letting out a breath, but god it felt perfect. He had had to be so strong and angry for so long, and it was such a relief almost to give into the biological impulse to not be the stronger one for once. He whimpered a little, feeling John's mouth release his neck and he rested his head on the man's shoulder. "Mm love you," he breathed, his neck throbbing more now.

"I love you too, Sherlock," John whispered, so happy to have him back that it was nearly a physical ache. "So, so very much." He kissed Sherlock's cheek, holding him tightly.

He looked up when there was a knock at the door, and a female doctor walked in – an Omega, this time – after unlocking the door. "Doctor Maria," John smiled, not relinquishing his hold on Sherlock. 

"I was told you boys were being troublesome, so they sent in someone that knew you," Maria explained, wrinkling her nose at all of the pheromones in the air. "Christ, Sherlock, bad timing, I guess. Congratulations on not being dead, though," she said with a wink, walking up to them and setting some bandages and other supplies down on the table.

Sherlock tensed when the door was opened and he blinked a couple times seeing, Dr Maria. He looked at her, flushing furiously when she mentioned that to him and he hid his face. "Oh god..." he said, embarrassed. "And thank you... not dead... working... government," he mumbled into his hands.

Maria chuckled, rubbing his shoulder gently. "It's alright, love. Can't stop it. Do you boys want me to pick up some morning after pills for you?" she offered.

John nodded, gently kissing Sherlock's neck. "What are you here for, Maria?" he asked, looking curiously over at her.

She huffed, pulling on some gloves. "Well, they came and got me, told me that you were out of bed after only being out of surgery for, like, forty minutes. So I figured you could have popped some stitches, and now I'm almost positive that you did. So lie down, please, and then you two can go back to cuddling."

Sherlock was still horrifically embarrassed. He slid off of the bed so that she could fix John's stitches. His hand went to his side and he winced, it hurt, but he ignored that, pacing the room a little.

"I told him to get back into bed, he wouldn't listen," Sherlock said quietly, still feeling sick.

Normally this part of the heat he was supposed to feel good, warm, but his stomach was in knots and he felt more feverish than normal because of the flu. He paced still, hand holding his side; he'd forgotten about the pills, good thing she hadn't.

"You needed me, idiot," John said, watching Sherlock pacing as he laid down, giving Maria access to his incision. "Of course I wasn't going to listen to you." He winced as she cut the stitches, tugging them out prematurely so that they could be replaced. "He has stitches, too," he told her quietly so that Sherlock wouldn't hear.

"Don't tense, love," Maria murmured, nodding to what he had said and pulling out a sterilised needle and thread and redoing the stitches quickly and effortlessly after giving John a local. "Sherlock, your turn," she said, pointing at the bed and moving around to the other side so that she could access his injury. "On the bed."

Sherlock paused in his steps, looking at her, and then shooting a look at John for telling. "I'm fine," he said. "It's not like it was the first time I was stabbed in the last two years," he muttered, resuming his pacing. He sighed, not liking how antsy he felt, agitated. His heat wasn't right, it was wrong... the flu messing it up, making it unpleasant. 

"Sherlock, get your arse on the bed, or so help me, I will drag you onto it," John said, raising his eyebrows at him. "I am not having you suffering through this. Now come lie down." He patted the space beside himself, giving Sherlock another look.

"Like you could!" Sherlock snapped, ruffling his hair agitatedly. He huffed a sigh, looking over at John. Finally he sighed, walking over and perching on the bed. "I'm fine," he said curtly, blinking a few times, his head fuzzy.

John leant up on his elbows, furrowing his brow. "Sherlock? Are you alright?" he asked, watching as Maria slowly moved aside his gown as started snipping off the stitches there.

Sherlock jumped a little bit when she snipped at the first stitch. "Ah!" he hissed a little in pain, more sensitive as he was in the middle of a heat. He looked over at John a moment, then looked down. "I don't... feel right," he said. "It's supposed to not be hard now. I don't feel right," he said, trying to cover his wound again, not wanting the stitches touched again, despite already having a few already cut off, and it was no doubt bleeding again.

John gently took Sherlock's hand away from his wound, freeing the area up for Maria too keep working. "Keep still, love," he murmured, locking gazes with him. He could feel how off Sherlock was through the bond, and he didn't like it. It was upsetting, and all he wanted to do was hold him and cuddle him and make it all better. But he knew Sherlock had pulled stitches, and they needed to be redone.

Sherlock frowned, pulling his hand away a little, but John wouldn't let it give. He whined a little, shifting uncomfortably. "It hurts!" he complained childishly; he didn't care. He glanced up at Dr Maria, who seemed to have the patience of a Saint. He huffed a sigh, holding still as she resumed her work, wincing and hissing in pain occasionally.

"Easy, sweetheart," John murmured, rubbing the back of Sherlock’s hand with his thumb. "You're alright, okay?" He wished he could actually sit up and hold Sherlock, but he was resigned to this, and he guessed he could deal with it.

"Couple more," Maria said, cutting the last two and pulling them out. She felt Sherlock relax beneath her hand, and before he could turn and look to see what she was doing, she injected him with a strong local anaesthetic to numb up the area. "You won't feel it anymore," she promised, thankful that John had a strong enough grip to keep Sherlock on the bed.

Sherlock winced as he felt a stinging in his side that quickly faded to nothing. He sighed, laying down partially on his left side to face John, his wound was more towards his right so Maria could fix it. The way his gown was open she no doubt saw the marks on his torso, and the brand on his back. He let out a breath, blinking a few times, tired still from the knotting and the flu. 

John stroked Sherlock's face, gently running his fingers along the line of his cheekbone and down his jaw. "I love you," he whispered, brushing his thumb over Sherlock's lips.

Maria smiled to herself at how lovesick the two of them were. She worked quickly and efficiently on the stitches, making them tight enough to hopefully not break, but not so tight as to hinder movement. "How's the little one?" she asked. She had seen Katherine for her shots a few months ago, but not since.

Sherlock let out a breath, looking down at the mention of Katherine. "You tell me, you've seen her far more than I have," he murmured quietly. That was his fault, he knew, all his fault. John being in the hospital, his fault. "As soon as it was just me and her she wouldn't even talk to me, John," he said in a low whisper. Like he was a stranger, but then... he was, wasn't he? 

"Shh," John whispered, rolling onto his side and kissing Sherlock's forehead. "She'll get to know you, love. I promise, she will. Two years is nothing compared to the next fifteen, and then the next however many after that," he said, brushing at some of Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock let out a breath, closing his eyes as John's lips pressed to his forehead. He relaxed under his touch, feeling as his gown was laid back over his frame. He mumbled a quiet thank you, glad his side no longer ached anymore. He sighed a little, dozing off easily. "Hmmm," he hummed, nuzzling closer to John.

John let out a small sigh, looking up at Maria. "Thank you," he whispered. "Could you -"

"I've got it," Maria said with a kind smile, gathering her things. She squeezed John's shoulder before slipping from the room, locking it up behind her.

Sherlock curled up into a small ball, folding himself up as he rested his head close to John, tilting it up to be near his neck. He sighed, relaxing fully into the bed before he fell asleep entirely, finding it so easy now that he wasn't hurting so much.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is a more special Sunday. I'm (Khansfringe) is flying out to meet Constellationqueen today! We've been writing for more than a year long distance and now we're finally meeting up. :)

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, holding onto him possessively. He didn't like seeing Sherlock so vulnerable, especially after just getting him back. He nuzzled against his temple, trailing his lips down to his neck so that he could breathe in his scent while he waited for Sherlock to wake up again.

Sherlock dozed for a couple hours, hardly moving during that time, the occasional whimper rising out of him quietly. He shifted a little as he started to come to, his eyes blinking open slowly. He saw John in front of him and almost thought it was a dream, it almost always was. He reached up carefully with one hand and touched John's lips with one finger, as if amazed to find them solid.

John smiled, kissing Sherlock's finger. "Hello, love," he whispered, reaching up and cupping his cheek gently, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. "How are you feeling?" he asked, worried about his heat and the flu and his side and just... everything.

Sherlock blinked a few times, still waking up, his head sluggish so it took a minute to catch up. He leant into John's hand a little, half shrugging. "’m okay," he murmured quietly, letting out a slow breath.

"Still feel... off. Having a heat while sick is not fun," he said, cramping a little again, though he didn't feel any moisture yet. Great, so the flu had messed with that as well. He sighed, at least he had had one knotting, and didn't have to wait to fix their bond.

John smiled sympathetically, leaning forward to kiss Sherlock gently. "No, I can't imagine that it is." He combed through Sherlock's hair, brushing it back from his face. Sighing softly, he leant forward, nuzzling against Sherlock's neck, licking his tongue against the bruise he had left. "I'm glad you're back," he whispered, nipping gently at the mark.

Sherlock jumped a bit at the nip on his neck, leaning down into John more. "’m glad I'm back too," he said quietly. He sighed, looking up at him. "I don't want to leave again... ever," he said quietly. "Never. I will always... always be here with you. You... and Katherine," he said quietly, looking at John. "And… if we ever... have another," he added. "I understand if you don't, I just... I missed it," he said.

John leant back a little to look at Sherlock, finding his hand and linking their fingers together. "I do want another, at some point," he said, lifting Sherlock's hand and kissing his knuckles. "Just not right now. Too much is happening right now. I couldn't... we need to wait a while. Another year, maybe. Then Katty will be five when we have the next one, and that works for me," he said, looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock squeezed John's fingers a little, looking down. "Large age differences between siblings don't really work out," he said quietly, but he nodded. He understood John not wanting to. They could put it off, discuss it later; though Sherlock made a mental note not to bring it up again. John could, he wouldn't. He let out a breath, resting his forehead against John's.

"Hey, don't look so forlorn about it," John whispered, brushing his lips against Sherlock's as he combed through his hair with his other hand. "It'll happen, alright? And what are you talking about; you and Mycroft are seven years apart. Five won't make a huge difference." He sighed, moving to wrap his arms around Sherlock again, pulling him close.

"And we've already seen the difference two years makes," Sherlock murmured quietly. He sighed, looking up at John again. "I just want things to be normal again, I want things better, and I want to give more to you," he said. "I threw away two years, and I'll never get those back," he said quietly, 

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, his gaze flickering between Sherlock's gorgeous eyes. He moved too fast for Sherlock to stop him, and in two seconds flat, he had the Omega pinned on his back with his hands trapped above his head, and John was straddling his hips.

"Stop," he commanded. "Stop apologising. Stop bringing it up, alright?" He didn't want to admit it, but every time he thought he had forgotten about it, Sherlock seemed to mention it again and it was like a hot poker getting stabbed through his ribs. "It's done, it happened, but now you're back. So _stay back_. Be a father and a mate and make up for it, but stop trying so damn hard."

"I-I'm sorry," Sherlock said instantly, despite John telling him to stop apologising. He winced a little as he shifted, looking up at John and pressing himself into the mattress. "I... I'll do better," he said quietly. “I just... I put you in here," he said, looking around the hospital room. "And... I put you on that rooftop two weeks ago," he said quietly. John didn't know that Sherlock knew about that; the only reason Molly went up there or even knew about it was because Sherlock had called her. 

John blinked rapidly a few times, not liking the reminder of what he had almost done. His grip slackened for a moment as he was suddenly back on that rooftop, so close and wanting to jump. He shook his head, pulling back to the present and tightening his hold on Sherlock once more.

"You did not put me in here, and you didn't put me there, either," he said, completely confident in his answer.

"No... Not at all. I'm sure those ulcers just formed out of nowhere, you haven't been stressed at all the last two years. Or the fact that you were standing on the same rooftop I jumped off of. You may have done that yourself, but it was because of what I did, and what were you thinking John?!" he said, almost shouting at the end of it.

"What I did, I did to keep you both safe... because he was going to kill everyone I care about... but... you almost took that away. Even after everything I did," he said, blinking as a few tears escaped his eyes. "I could have just as easily come back to find an empty flat, with a child who didn't know me, in the hands of social services," he said quietly, trembling as he thought about how  he'd almost lost John, because he was being stupid.

"You were gone!" John cried, his hands tight around Sherlock's wrists, his shoulders trembling. "You had been gone for two goddamned years, leaving me to raise our infant daughter alone. There was no explanation, no nothing. You jumped off of a fucking rooftop, and you made. Me. Watch." He was crying now, but he ignored it.

"You could have let me walk inside, done it then. But no, you fucking  _positioned_  me, told me to keep my eyes on you. So fuck you if you thought that wouldn't scar the hell out of me. I held on for two bloody long years." He wasn't sure how he was keeping from screaming, but he was managing, just barely.

"And she was set up to be with Mycroft and Lestrade. I'm not an idiot, and I'm not a horrible fucking father. Everything was set up, all the paperwork was done for accounts to be transferred to her and everything. She would have been fine. So don't you  _dare_  suggest that I would just abandon her to nothing."

Sherlock winced at the pressure on his wrists, pressing himself more into the mattress. "Yet you were abandoning her none the less," he said. His breath broke slightly, more silent tears coming from him.

 _Like you did?_  The comment was one the tip of his tongue, but John didn't say it.

"I'm sorry... but... I never could have done that if you weren't there John. I... I needed you there, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to do it, to save you. I... I'm sorry," he said, voice cracking as he shut his eyes, feeling horrible, and small, despicable. 

John pushed off of the bed, walking over to the door and throwing it open, disappearing down the hall before Sherlock could stop him. He stopped just around the corner, ignoring the looks he was getting from worried nurses, and sank to the floor, his back pressed up against the wall, and pulled his knees up to his chest, sobbing heavily into them.

Sherlock swallowed, watching John leave the room. He sat up, looking at the door, waiting. He didn't come back, and Sherlock curled his knees up to his chest. "John?" he asked, looking at the door still. He got up after a minute or so, walking down the hall carefully.

He got a few looks from the doctors and a few visitors walking down the hall. His heat... he was still in it. It made him feel small, and his heart beat quickly in his chest. He looked around, finally finding John. He paused a few feet away. "J-John?" he asked softly. "John, I'm sorry, please..." he said.

John looked up, startled to see Sherlock standing there. He was still in heat, what was he doing out of bed? John stood, grabbing Sherlock's hand and leading him back to the room, closing and locking the door behind them. He walked back over to his bed and sat down on it, putting his head in his hands. Christ, he was still bloody crying.

"What do you want from me?" he whispered, looking helplessly up at Sherlock.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself, standing in the middle of the room, looking meekly up at John. He himself was crying a little too, and he looked back at the floor. "I want you to be happy again," he said quietly. "I don't want you getting ulcers and almost bleeding to death from the inside, and I don't want you up on rooftops because... because you feel there's no other way and... I just don't want to hurt you anymore," he said quietly. He crouched slightly where he was, curling up in a ball on the floor. "You deserve... so much better John. So much  _more_ ," he said.

"No," John said, curling up on his side. "I want you. And only you." He sucked in a deep breath, holding his arms tightly around his stomach. "But I don't want this. I don't want to constantly be reminded of the two years you were gone. I don't want to be reminded of what I did, or what you did, or think about what could have happened." He bit he lip, blinking to clear his eyes of the tears.

"It happened, Sherlock, it's gone. Stop living wherever you were and come back to me."

Sherlock looked up at John, biting his lip. He stood up, tentatively walking over to the bed. "It did happen... we can't pretend it didn't. I'm a walking canvas of the proof," he said quietly. "But.." he said, voice cracking a little as he still had his arms wrapped around himself, feeling like he was falling apart, he  _needed_  his Alpha. "But I'll never mention it again... please can I just... please hold me," he said quietly.

For once, John didn't want to. He really didn't want to hold Sherlock. He just wanted to go home and curl up in his own bed and cry for maybe twenty-four hours, and then he would probably be okay. But his duty as an Alpha was to comfort his Omega, especially during a heat. So he unfurled himself and stood, walking over to the other bed and pulling Sherlock into it with him, spooning up behind him and wrapping his arms around him, his palm pressed over his heart.

Sherlock climbed onto the bed and curled up with John behind him. He relaxed a little, but it didn't feel right, like something was wrong. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, reaching up and covering John's hand with his own. "What do you want from me? What can I give you... anything, please," he said.

"I don't know, Sherlock," John murmured, nuzzling against the back of his neck, hoping that his scent would calm him down some. It helped, a little. "I really, really don't know." He sighed, resting his forehead above the fresh mark. "I want you to stop worrying about me and what happened so much. I'm a soldier. We carry on. It's just... it's what we do. A week of ordered bed rest is going to be more like two or three days. I'm fine, you need to stop fretting so much."

Sherlock let out a breath, nodding. "Guess it's habit now," he said quietly. "That's all I ever did, fret. Worry, I'm surprised my hair didn't grow out grey like Lestrade's when I stopped colouring it," he said with a light laugh.

He sighed. "I heard... from Molly, about Lestrade and Mycroft, their pup..." he said quietly. "I should have been here for that... for him. For both of them," he said. "Lestrade's my brother's mate, and a friend..." he murmured.

John nodded, his eyes slipping shut as he let Sherlock's scent surround him entirely. "It was tough. They were both in a bad state for a few days. But I think they're trying for another. Greg really wants one, and Mycroft has a hard time saying no to him."

"That's good," Sherlock said quietly, happy for the change in topic. "As cold as he seems... Mycroft would make a good father. He raised me, after all. Not his fault I'm the way I am. You should have seen him... before they died. Ambitious and clever as always, but... he was warm. Expressive. Different. So was I, though... you brought some of me back," he said quietly.

"I kind of figured you two weren't raised without emotion," John murmured, running his fingers absently over Sherlock's chest. He sighed, chewing on his lip. "I don't want to forget about it, or pretend it didn't happen," he said, still moving his fingers over Sherlock's skin, "I just don't want it to consume us. We'd fall apart."

Sherlock nodded, letting out a breath as John brought the conversation back to where it had been. "It won't, I promise," he said, reaching up and wrapping his fingers around John's wrist, feeling his pulse.

"Don't you ever think about stopping this again, not even for a second. And I'll do the same, even though technically, I never really tried, it just looked like it, and I'm sorry, and I know you hate me a little for it, but I can still be upset because that would have been  _real_ ," he said quickly, rattling it all off and letting out a breath to try and steady himself before he started crying again.

"I know," John breathed, choking a little as he fought back a sob. He cleared his throat, nuzzling against Sherlock's neck and breathing deeply. "How are you feeling? As far as your heat, I mean?" he asked, leaving his wrist in Sherlock's hand.

"Better now," he murmured, "Still off, but... that's my own fault. It can't be just the flu, but I did lose blood, and am malnourished," he murmured. "Probably why I didn’t have another wave. Next time though, I suppose," he said quietly.

John nodded, smoothing his hand down Sherlock's front. "Try to get some sleep then, yeah? I'll try too," he murmured, nuzzling a little closer to Sherlock, the urge to protect and comfort his mate still overpowering his small want to be alone.

"Only if you do," he murmured quietly. "I know you didn't sleep before when I did, you just had surgery. So you sleep or I'll have them sedate you," he said, realising why John might not want to. "I... I'm not going anywhere this time," he said quietly, rubbing John's wrist. "I promise."

"Please don't," John whispered, his voice small. He wouldn't be able to handle Sherlock leaving him again, disappearing without a goodbye. It would kill him. He let go of a breath, closing his eyes and sinking down against the mattress. His body became heavy and before long, he was sleeping soundly.

"Never John... I promise," he murmured quietly. He felt John's pulse slow, becoming steadier as he fell asleep.

He looked up when Dr Maria slipped back into the room, seeing Sherlock lying there with red-rimmed eyes. She smiled softly, bringing over the IV stand and expertly inserting a new IV into John's other hand.

"See to it he keeps it in this time, otherwise he's not allowed to go home early," she said softly, patting Sherlock's shoulder. "I expect you in for a check-up when things smooth over," she said, leaving again.

Sherlock sighed, settling once more and allowing himself to fall asleep, not letting go of John.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

John woke up crying softly. Stupid dreams. He rested his forehead on Sherlock's neck, matching his breathing with his mate's in hopes of keeping him asleep longer. He wanted to wipe off his cheeks, but he didn't want to move and disturb Sherlock, so he left it alone. It could wait for now.

Sherlock shifted slightly in his sleep, as if something was disturbing him, but he settled again, holding tighter onto John's hand. He hummed, face pinching slightly, though John couldn't see it. He mumbled a little in his sleep, only an occasional word making sense. "...ss-spider... nnooo... Victor, no.... Mmm..." he whimpered, his hand in a vice-like grip on John's wrist now. "No... sstop... Jim... Katty.." the last word was a plea, his voice small, terrified.

John swore softly at the increase in pressure on his wrist, but he didn't try to pull back, knowing that would just be feeding Sherlock's nightmare. "Sherlock, wake up," he demanded, his voice loud. He was starting to panic, effectively trapped by the Omega, who could easily hurt him. "Sherlock, please," he begged, hating himself as he leant forward and nipped hard at the bruise on Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock shouted when he felt the pain in his neck, his eyes snapping open and letting go of what he was holding onto. He fell out of the bed, sitting bolt upright, his heart pounding out of his chest when he looked around the hospital room, as if not recognising where he was. 

John braced himself on the edge of the bed so that he wouldn't fall too. He looked down at Sherlock and then at the IV in his hand, which was keeping him in place on the bed. He tugged it out without a second thought, slipping out of bed and sinking to the floor beside Sherlock. He cupped Sherlock's face in his hands, holding him steady. "You're alright, love. Hospital. I'm here, you're okay."

Sherlock flinched when John appeared by his side, blinking a few times when he realised that it was him, not  _them,_  his mind taking a second longer to process this, still a bit slower than normal. He let out a breath, looking at John. "K-Katherine?" he asked quickly, eyes scared.

John didn't like the trembling in his voice, the timid tone that he thought he had gotten rid of. He pulled Sherlock against his chest, holding onto him tightly and rocking him gently. "She's alright, she's fine. Molly's watching her, remember?" he murmured, pressing his lips against the top of Sherlock's head.

Sherlock nodded, letting out a slow breath, getting his breathing under control. He leant against John, resting his head on his shoulder as he looked down at John's hand. He sighed. "B-better get that back in. Maria all but threatened a longer stay if you didn't keep it in, and you're running out of spaces on your hand," he said quietly, wiping at his eyes a little to make sure nothing fell from them. 

John pulled back a little, cupping Sherlock's face again and kissing his eyelids gently. "Alright, come on, you're coming with me," he murmured, slowly getting to his feet and pulling Sherlock up with him. He wrapped him up in his arms, holding him in a tight hug for a long moment before he crawled back into the bed, reinserting the IV and motioning for Sherlock to join him.

Sherlock looked at the bed, watching John put the IV in, that couldn't be sanitary, he should have had a new needle. He walked over and picked up his phone, crawling up into the bed with John. He sent a quick message. 

_How is she? I need to know. SH_

_She's fine, watching some telly. And then we're colouring before lunch. Get some rest. M_

He sighed, settling onto the bed beside John, swallowing.

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock, nuzzling against his neck. "See? She's alright," he murmured, kissing Sherlock's skin gently. He sighed, staying on his back because he knew it was better for healing, but god he just wanted to hold Sherlock and tell him that everything was alright. "Go back to sleep, love, you need it," he said softly, combing through Sherlock's hair at the back of his head.

Sherlock was curled on his left side facing John, resting his head on his shoulder, taking in his scent. "Yes... she's fine..." he said with a small nod. "’m not the only one that needs sleep," he murmured quietly, not wanting to go to sleep. He would probably just go back to that place, and it wasn't a place he wanted to be.  "Mm love you," he murmured quietly.

"I love you, too," John whispered, knowing that he needed sleep, but god, he just wanted to be there for Sherlock. He had missed too much, and he didn't know what he was protecting him from, but damned if he wasn't going to try. But his body had other plans, and it wasn't five minutes before he was fighting to stay awake, and then he was losing, and then he was unconscious.

Sherlock sighed, watching John's face as he fell asleep, seeing the features smooth out. He felt like there were a couple lines on his face that hadn't been there before. He traced small patterns on John's chest, listening to him breathe. Sherlock could feel the traces of his heat disappearing and he was left with the sickening fatigue and general horrible feeling from the last parts of the flu. He gently got out of bed to get something to drink from the sink in the room, since he didn't have an IV, and climbed back in, tired, but not allowing himself to sleep.

John stirred a little when Sherlock got out of bed and then again when he climbed back in, but he didn't wake up, too exhausted from the flu and the surgery, and then from helping Sherlock with his heat. He was well and completely out for the count this time.

After about an hour, there was a knock at the door and Maria came in again with a bottle of pills in one hand. "Here you go, love," she whispered, patting Sherlock gently on the shoulder. "Take two of them within the next hour or so and you'll be alright." She smiled kindly at him before walking over to check on John, hooking him back up to a few more machines, including the painkillers, and then leaving the room.

Sherlock watched Maria tend to John, staying curled up next to him. He looked at the pills she'd handed him, then down at his belly. He swallowed, and for while considered not taking them. He wanted John happy again, and having Katherine had focused him so much, made him smile again. Then there was the chance he might not even be able to have one yet, too injured and sick, not enough nutrition. But then, last time he'd been shot.

He sighed, finally deciding to take them about an hour after they were left. He swallowed them dry, curling up next to John and trying to sleep, not succeeding. 

John furrowed his brow, stirring a little and pulling out of his sleep a few hours later. His internal clock told him that it was far past supper time, but he wasn't hungry. He sighed, blinking a little and looking down at the new needles inserted into his arm and hand. Morphine drip. Well, that would explain his sudden lack of pain. He turned to Sherlock, nuzzling into his hair and inhaling. "You didn't sleep," he murmured accusingly, kissing his temple.

Sherlock blinked a couple times, looking up at John and withdrawing out of his head. "Yes I did, for a bit," he lied softly. "I just didn't have morphine to keep me under," he murmured quietly. "Maria brought the pills... I took them, keeping some on hand for when we're home," he said quietly. "I figure they'll be irregular for a little while, till things are more... settled," he said quietly, his stomach making a noise. He sighed, ignoring it.

John nodded quietly, resting his hand over Sherlock's stomach. Part of him missed Sherlock when he had been pregnant. Missed the anticipation, the happiness. But he knew the workings of human emotion a little better than Sherlock did. Having a pup right now would tear them apart before it would bring them together. They needed to wait.

Sherlock looked down at John's hand on his stomach, letting out a breath. He knew what John was thinking about. "Someday," he said quietly, letting out a breath.

"You should go eat," John said, kissing Sherlock again. "One meal a day, remember?"

He sighed when John mentioned him eating. "I don't want to go anywhere," he mumbled, curling up more stubbornly.

"Sherlock," John protested, but he just held Sherlock tighter, not wanting him to go anywhere either. "You need to eat," he said in contradiction to his motions. "I don't want you wasting away on me."

"’m not going to," he mumbled quietly. He sighed a little. "When the nurse comes back, I'll order whatever it is they have today that they call food. They said you are on soft food, so you'll get broth and jelly no doubt," he murmured, nuzzling close to John.

"I'm not hungry," John said, but he knew he wouldn't win that argument. So he just sighed and let it go, combing his hands through Sherlock's hair and holding on to him.

"Too bad." Sherlock muttered, relaxing into John's arms. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Molly brought Katherine over the next day, having taken a day off work. The three year old was quite obviously over her flu and energetic as ever, brightened by the fact that John was more alert and had a better colour.

Sherlock stayed in the hospital with John, and only took Katherine home to get a few things, explaining that they were sleeping over to spend time with Papa, so he felt better. Really, Sherlock just couldn't stand to be away from him yet.

It was four days before Maria considered letting John go, since he was doing fairly well and finally keeping in his IV. On their fifth day in the hospital, John's discharge papers were going through. 

"We going to the park?" Katherine asked excitedly, jumping a little with her backpack on her back.

Sherlock sighed a little, smoothing down her curls. "Not today little one, the doctor said Papa has to rest still," he said.

John grinned down at Katty, setting a hand on her shoulder. "A few more days, alright? Then, I promise, we can all go to the park." He looked up at the knock on the door, frowning a little at the nurse with the wheelchair. "No," he said, shaking his head and taking hold of Katherine's hand. "I'm perfectly capably of walking, thanks." He was a little ornery after being cooped up for so long, and he felt a little guilty about it, but he was  _not_ sitting in a wheelchair when he could walk just as well. 

Katherine saw the chair and blinked, walking over and climbing into it instead. "I can sit Papa!" she said, bouncing a little in the chair. The nurse didn't appear happy, leaving with a curt nod and a huff.

Sherlock smiled, setting John's bag of belongings into the seat next to her and hanging the bag with his and Katherine's clothes on the handle. "Let's go then," he said, holding an arm out for John.

John chuckled a little, linking his arm with Sherlock's and leaning on him a little. He hadn't been out of bed in four days, and it had worn on his muscles, had made them weaker. It would take a couple days to get back up to strength. He walked with Sherlock through the corridors to the lobby, then stopped him and told Katherine she should get down. "Come on, Katty, you can hold my other hand," he offered.

Katherine sighed laboriously and slid out of the wheel chair, dragging her bag with her and taking John's hand. Sherlock picked up the other bag and carried both out, leading the two of them out to hail a cab. He ushered the two of them in and settled in the seat, squeezing John's hand. "Finally going home," he said with a sigh. He hated hospitals, especially when it was John in them for anything other than work.

"Bout time," John commented, pulling Katherine onto his lap. He hadn't been able to hold her for five days, and it had damn near killed him. He rested his chin on top of her head, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "I'm going to make some tea, and then I'm going to sit in my chair and I'm not going to move," he said, parting his eyelids to smile at Sherlock. They were functioning again, and it was so very nice.

Sherlock smiled back, looking at Katherine as she rested gently against John. He could see her being careful, not wanting to upset John's injuries. "No, correction.  _Katherine and I_  are going to make tea, you are going to be sitting in  _bed_  and not moving," he said with a smile at Katherine when she looked up at him at her name.

John sighed dramatically, leaning back against the seat and stroking through Katherine's hair. "Must you make this so difficult on me?" he teased, reaching over to take Sherlock's hand. He squeezed it, linking their fingers together and rubbing his knuckles with his thumb.

"Always," Sherlock murmured softly, smiling down at Katherine.

She tilted her head up to look at the two of them. "Going to make tea, Papa," she said with a smile.

Sherlock reached over and gave her hand a small squeeze. "Yes you are, Katty. Have to teach you exactly how Papa likes it. The secret is no sugar," he said with a knowing smirk towards John, remembering Baskerville.

John laughed, wincing a little when it pulled at his internal stitches, which would eventually just fall apart on their own when they needed to. "No sugar and a splash of milk," he said, leaning his head against Sherlock's shoulder with a soft sigh. He played absently with Katherine's fingers, holding them up to his lips and kissing her knuckles.

Katherine nodded a little. "Splish of milk," she echoed incorrectly. She sighed a little, closing her eyes a little.

Sherlock smiled, nuzzling his head against John's. "She'll have it down by the end of the week," he murmured quietly, kissing John's temple. "I set Doctor Who to record for you when I picked up clothes for us," he murmured quietly.

John laughed at that, cradling Katty's head against his chest. "Like I haven't seen all of the episodes already," he teased. Well, except for a few he had missed while he had been serving Queen and Country. He somehow hadn't been able to find them on telly yet. "Don't push her too hard. She's only three," he muttered, leaning his head up to nuzzle against Sherlock's jaw.

"It's tea, John, I'm sure she can manage," Sherlock murmured gently, looking down at Katherine, whose head had rolled to the side, having fallen asleep. He brushed a few curls out of her face, watching her with a look of contentment. 

John sighed lightly, happy to be where he was, happy to be going home. "You can't keep me in bed for the next week, you know," he murmured, rubbing his hand gently along Katherine's back. "I'll have to start moving at some point." He leant back a little to look up at Sherlock, who had been so protective of him over the course of the past few days. 

"Watch me," Sherlock murmured. It had been almost impossible during his heat, and he'd hated it, how small he felt, and he hoped that that wasn't going to be a common occurrence. He'd taken to being snappier, though, insistent on John recovering properly. He had to get better, then they could get better.

John rolled his eyes, but he didn't say anything further. Sherlock would just have to deal with him getting up and walking around to stretch his legs and colour with their daughter. He was tired now though, so he didn't push anything. He was just enjoying Sherlock being close to him and holding his daughter in his lap. Everything was perfect at this moment, and he wanted it to stay that way.

Sherlock smiled, sitting in silence for the rest of the drive.

When they got to Baker Street, he gently picked up the sleeping Katherine, the cab driver helping with the bags for which Sherlock tipped him in thanks for. With one arm, he helped John up the stairs. He led John back to the bedroom and eased him down onto the bed. "I can go lay her down in her room, I'll be right back," he whispered.

John almost protested when Sherlock pulled Katherine from his arms, but he knew he wasn't supposed to be carrying anything. He held on to Sherlock's arm as they climbed the stairs, and he hated that he was already tired and a bit sore by the time they got to the bedroom. "Put her pink bear by her. It calms her down if she wakes up suddenly," he said, wanting to sit up but ending up lying on his back, his hands folded over his stomach.

Sherlock nodded, his nose buried in Katherine's hair as he carried her form the room, her limbs hanging limp, head on his shoulder. He took her upstairs to her bedroom, having to gently pry her fingers off of his coat and settling her in the bed. He reached over and tucked her little bear in with her.

"I should know about the bear..." he said softly, brushing some hair out of her face. "I should know you... you should have felt okay talking to me when you were scared," he said quietly, leaning forward and pressing a small kiss to her forehead. "I look forward to knowing you more, little one," he whispered, retreating downstairs to make John some tea. Soon enough, he was carrying a cup into the bedroom, settling down next to John after handing it to him.

John slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position when Sherlock came into the room, accepting the mug of tea with a smile. "Thanks, love," he whispered, leaning against him. He sipped his tea, humming at how delicious it was after nothing but hospital food for nearly a week. "Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked quietly, nuzzling against Sherlock's neck. "I feel like I need to do something for you after all you've done for me this week."

"Well... now that you mention it, I think we're out of milk, so if you wanted to run to the Tesco for me that would be great," he said with a small smirk, looking over to see John's reaction. "You don't need to do anything; I'm fine. You let me come back, and that's more than enough for me," he said, resting his head against John's. 

John chuckled, taking another sip of his tea. "I couldn't let you leave," he said quietly, wrapping his fingers around Sherlock's hand and squeezing. "I love you," he whispered, his eyes closed as he nuzzled closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled, returning the pressure to John's hand. "I don't even have to say it... but I always will. I love you, I always will love you," he murmured. "Always, my John," he said. "Always my Katherine... my family," he said with a small sigh. "When you're better I'll have Mycroft release the information to the press... they'll bother us for a little while I'm sure, but... but I want to be back," he said.

John smiled, turning to kiss Sherlock's neck. "Good," he whispered, running his thumb over the back of Sherlock's hand. "I'm glad you do. I want to take you out to dinner at some point. And Mrs Hudson hasn't seen you yet." He sighed, thinking about the rest of his family as well. "Harry's going to be pissed at you," he said quietly.

Sherlock sighed. "Mrs Hudson... I'll take care of that before the press. She deserves to know," he said. "And as for Harry, I can take her wrath I suppose," he said. "Did... did she and Clara ever try for that pup she talked about?" he asked.

John gave a weary sigh, setting his mug down and wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist to pull him closer. "They're still trying," he answered, a little sadly. "But I'm thinking that one of them is infertile. I wanted to bring it up to Harry when I saw her those few times, but... I don't know how to say it delicately."

Sherlock looked down, snuggling close to John. "There are ways to fix that a lot of the time... therapies," he murmured quietly. Sherlock let out a breath, loving having John just... hold him. "John, I know... I know it's usually something Betas do... since they don't create bonds like Alphas and Omegas can, but..." he hesitated a little, looking up at him. "When you're better and this blows over... do you think, maybe, you'd want to get married?" he asked quietly. His face warmed; it was unusual for bondmates to get married. It was seen something trivial and extra, but John had a mark on Sherlock to say he was his... Sherlock wanted that too... and wanted to put a ring on John.

John blinked, not really expecting that question. He rolled Sherlock's hand over in his own, releasing it a little so that he could trace patterns on his palm. "I think... yes," he said slowly, tilting his head up and smiling at Sherlock. "Yes, I would very much like to marry you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock closed his fingers lightly to catch John's when he was tracing his palm. He met John's gaze after he gave the answer, and a smile spread on his face. He leant down more and pressed a kiss to John's lips, humming a little as he smiled against him. "Thank you... thank you, John.  _Mon John,_ " he hummed, scenting his neck.

John smiled, lacing his fingers with Sherlock's as he returned the scenting, nuzzling against Sherlock's pulse point and licking it tentatively, then with more surety, adding a little nip at the end. "Always," he murmured. "I'm always yours."

Sherlock grinned, nipping a little at John's neck. "Good," he said, pulling back slightly and easing John down more on the bed, before laying next to him. "You need rest," he said, more insisting than he was suggesting it.

John gave a soft huff of irritation, but really, he was thankful for Sherlock. He would get better now, with Sherlock's help. And in all honesty, he was tired as hell. "Alright. Promise me you'll wake me if you or Katty need something," he murmured, wrapping his arm around Sherlock's shoulders and pulling him close.

Sherlock settled close to John, smiling a bit. "If she needs something, I can get it for her," he murmured. "And my side is perfectly fine now." Well... fine enough. "So you are sleeping, until you wake up," he said, kissing John gently.

John grumbled lightly, turning his head to kiss Sherlock's forehead. "I love you, my gorgeous fiancé," he whispered, nuzzling against him. Sleep took hold of him quickly, and he was snoring softly within the minute.

Sherlock smiled when John fell asleep, and he just watched him for a little while. He got up and went to the bathroom, walking around the living room. He sighed, walking over by the window and his old chair. He blinked, looking in the corner, seeing his violin case. He smiled again, grabbing it up quickly and opening it. He laughed softly, running his fingers over the instrument. John had kept it.

Sherlock ended up going upstairs to check on Katherine, watching her for a while, curled up around her small bear. She whimpered a little, her small face pinching a bit. He moved over and rubbed her back, and she reached out in her sleep. He sighed, scooping her up, her hands clinging onto him tightly. "Shh... it's alright babe," he said quietly. He carried her downstairs and climbed into bed with John, Katherine still clinging onto him like a baby koala.

John stirred a little when he felt the bed dip down. He rolled over unconsciously, spooning himself around Katherine and Sherlock, holding onto them protectively. He nuzzled against Sherlock's shoulder, his scent filling him up and inflating him until he drifted back into deeper sleep.

Sherlock let out a breath, rubbing Katherine's back gently. He loved this, would always love this, and could only have it for so long. Soon enough Katherine wouldn't be able to be scooped up and held like this. He wanted her forever, John forever.

Eventually he fell asleep as well, arms wrapped around his daughter, nose buried in her hair. 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early post for the holidays. Hope you're all doing alright lovelies. <3

John healed in quick time, as he knew he would. Well, he actually healed slower than what was normal, because he was up and walking before he was supposed to be, but that was neither here nor there.

He had properly proposed to Sherlock a few weeks after Sherlock had brought it up, but they didn't have a date set up yet. Honestly, John just really liked seeing the silver band around Sherlock's finger.

Christmas was tomorrow, and, Christ, it had been a chore buying all of Katherine's presents without her instantly trying to seek them out. She was excited, and that made John excited. This would be the first Christmas that they would have together as a family, and he was a bit nervous about what Sherlock would think of his present.

Sherlock was curled up in his chair, spinning the band on his finger idly, smiling at it.

Katherine rushed up the stairs, all bundled up as she darted towards Sherlock, bits of snow on her clothes. "Snowing again, Daddy!" she squealed, jumping up onto Sherlock's lap. She and John had run to the store for milk, eggnog, and a few other things.

The months had gone quickly, the spring turning into summer, then fall, now it was winter. Their first Christmas... well, first one that Katherine might remember. She hadn't even been a year old when they had had their first.

"Is it?" he said with a smile. "I might never have deduced so much, thank you, Katherine," he said, helping her out of her coat and scarf.

The transition back had been hard, one of the paparazzi getting into Katherine's face on her way to day care. John had punched them, which made Sherlock smile. They had decided a good day care before Katherine started school was best.

John had started working again, and so had Sherlock, so she needed to be somewhere, and the interaction with the other children was good for her. Sherlock spared no expense on selecting the right one, making sure she learned, rather than just played all day with a telly on.

John shuffled up the stairs with a few bags on his arms. He walked into the kitchen, depositing the bags on the table and running a hand through his hair, ridding it of most of the snow, though there was already a trickle of cold water running down the back of his neck. He shivered, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up on a chair before starting to unload the bags. "Tesco was crowded. Absolutely nuts," he said, putting the milk where it belonged. "The queues were ridiculous, weren't they, Katty?"

"Yes, Papa!" she said, dashing across the room to hang up her coat on the small hook Sherlock had put up for her. She was a bundle of energy, had been for the month nearly. "Papa! Papa, Santa's coming tonight, right?" she asked, jumping up and down in the kitchen, pulling on John's arm.

Sherlock smiled, standing up and walking into the kitchen. He hadn't bothered trying to deduce his present, not yet anyway. Less fun that way, and fun was something he could appreciate again. He had to with a three year old in the flat.

Sherlock looked over at the tree in the corner, a few presents under it already, including the one he'd got for John. He wasn't sure what to get him, so he got a camera. He supposed it was a nice one, John was always taking them on his phone, having to delete some to make space, why not have better quality pictures?

"Well John, isn't that right?" he asked, leaning on the doorway. "You got the biscuits didn't you? To put out with the milk?" he grinned.

John chuckled, picking up Katherine and pulling the small tin of biscuits out of the bag. "Right here," he said, leaning over to kiss Katherine's nose. He handed her the tin and a plate, setting her down on the floor. "Go ahead and arrange the biscuits however you want," he said, nudging her towards the table.

Katherine took the tin and plate and dashed off over by the fire place, which she'd insisted be kept unlit for the last week in case Santa "came by early," and started to arrange the biscuits on the plate meticulously.

John walked over to Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his middle and untucking his shirt, sticking his cold hands against his back. He wondered if his present was a bit much, but really, he knew that the little cottage was something he had wanted for a long time, and he wanted to share it with Sherlock. There was another present that was "to Daddy," a combined effort (Katty had picked it out; John had paid) of John and Katherine to get Sherlock a new bow for his violin. He bit his lip, nuzzling against Sherlock's shoulder and holding him close.

Sherlock smiled when John walked towards him, his eyes widening as he gasped, John's icy hands pressing against his back. "N-no!" he said, trying to wriggle out of John's grasp. "You are a despi- let me go; did you frisk a snow sculpture?" he asked, laughing.

John held tight to Sherlock as he wriggled around, making a noise between a hum and a chuckle, warmth finally seeping into his fingers. "Katherine insisted on a snow fight. Of course, her aim is awful and I was purposefully missing, but I still had to touch the stuff." He leant up, pressing open-mouthed kisses in a line up Sherlock's neck. "You know we have to eat whatever she puts on that plate, right?" he whispered. "I'm going to die if she puts the whole tin on there."

Sherlock shivered when John's hands didn't move, stealing his warmth. He hummed when John kissed him though, accepting the apology. "Get into a snow fight with me... I won't miss," he said, looking over his shoulder at Katherine, who was pyramiding the biscuits on the plate. His eyes widened. "That won't do," he said, detangling himself and walking over to Katherine.

"Hon, don't you think Santa will get full from all those biscuits?" he asked.

Katherine looked up at him, crumbs on her lips, clearly having stolen a biscuit or two... or god knew how many. "But Santa's out all night," she said.

"I know that, but all the other children are leaving biscuits as well," he offered.

Katherine blinked, thinking a moment, then took only three biscuits off the plate, putting them back into the mostly empty tin. "There," she said with a nod, snapping the lid back on.

John let out a long breath, but he ended up laughing. "You're very considerate, sweetheart," he said, taking the tin from Katty's small hands and running his fingers through her hair. "Why don't you go wash those crumbs off of your chin, and then we can all sit down and read, how 'bout?" he suggested, knowing Katherine would be too wound-up to read, but suggesting it nonetheless.

Katherine was still bouncing a small bit, and she nodded quickly. "Yes!" she said. "And, and I can get my... my footies on... and... then I'll be ready!" she said, taking off like a bolt to the stairs and climbing up them using her arms as well.

Sherlock sighed, sinking into his chair and looking at the small mountain of biscuits. "I'm not prepared in the slightest for that," he said, looking over at John. 

John chuckled, walking over and perching on the arm of Sherlock's chair. He combed his fingers tenderly through Sherlock's hair. "We can sneak some down to Mrs Hudson," he suggested with a smile, looking up as Katherine came bounding back into the room, wearing her favourite blue pyjamas.

 _"Pink is for little girls,"_  she had told him around a month ago. Of course, his immediate thought was  _you are a little girl – my little girl_ , but he had complied and switched out her pink things for blue and green and red and basically any colour that wasn't pink or purple. The only pink thing in the room was her bear, because that was how she knew that she had been put to bed by either Papa or Daddy. That was their rule.

Katherine slid across the wooden floor, climbing up onto Sherlock's lap, and then wrapped her arms around John's. "Love you Papa... Daddy," she said, humming before she pulled away, as bouncy as ever. "What reading? When does Santa come?" she asked.

"We can read whatever you want," John said, not even tempting to bother settling her. "And Santa doesn't come until you're asleep." He glanced at the clock. They had eaten dinner before he had left for Tesco – Katherine insisting on coming with. It was close to seven now, and he had to wonder if Katherine would take the bait and want to go to bed immediately. Probably not.

"Night 'afore Christmas!" she exclaimed, sliding off Sherlock's lap and scurrying over to the coffee table to pick up the book, jumping up into Sherlock's lap again, and looking up at her Papa. In her lap sat the copy of  _T'was the Night before Christmas_ that Mrs Hudson had given Katherine, and she had insisted they read it nearly every day, once a day minimum. "You read Papa.... your Santa voice is best," she said, holding the book up, looking excitedly towards the chimney.

John smiled, leaning against Sherlock's shoulder as he took the book. He cleared his throat, opening up to the first page. "Twas the night before Christmas, and, all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse," he began, watching Katherine while he read the rest of the book essentially off of memory.

Katherine hunkered down onto Sherlock's lap and he wrapped his arms around her as she avidly listened to John read, smiling. When it came to the end she sat up, saying the names of each reindeer as they came up. She smiled, taking the book in her arms. "Left out Rudolph," she pointed out. "Oh! Have go!" she said sliding off his lap and dashing down the hall to the bathroom, book clattering to the floor. 

Sherlock sighed, rubbing his eyes. They still had a long night, setting up the presents, eating the mountain of biscuits, and building a doll house. Why they didn't come pre-built was a mystery Sherlock wouldn't mind solving. "You know... I do have some sedatives left," he murmured quietly.

John shoved Sherlock's shoulder with his arm, looking down the hall towards where Katherine had disappeared into the bathroom. "Let her enjoy this. It's the first one she's going to remember, so just... let it happen."

"It was... just a suggestion," Sherlock said when John shoved him a little.

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's shoulders, kissing the top of his head. "I love you. We're going to get no sleep tonight, but I love you." He smiled, nuzzling against Sherlock's temple.

Sherlock sighed, leaning against John and wrapping an arm around his waist. "I love you too... and you're building the damn thing," he murmured as Katherine came back out. She looked almost on the boarder of yawning, but managed to shove it back down, looking at the biscuits on the plate.

"Oh!" she said, going quickly into the kitchen and pulling out some baby carrots, setting them out on the plate also. "For the reindeer," she said.

"That's just great Katty, I'm sure they'll appreciate that," he said, picking her up onto his lap and rubbing her stomach gently, sneakily trying to soothe her a bit, get her asleep.

John smirked at Sherlock, combing through Katty's hair and tucking a few stray curls behind her ear. "You know baby, Santa comes faster if you sleep," he murmured. "He has a special kind of magic that lets him know who's asleep, and he goes to their houses first." He gave a half shrug to Sherlock, hoping that Katherine believed him.

Katherine looked up at her Papa, letting out a breath and leaning against her Daddy. "But have plan," she said, voice slightly lower than before; Sherlock kept up his motions on her stomach, smirking at the fact that that still worked. He reached up and combed his fingers through her hair as well. "Pretend sleep....'nd see Santa," she said, with a small yawn interrupting her sentence. 

John smirked, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "He knows, love," he whispered. "He's really very smart, and if you're faking it, he'll leave."

"Not as'mart as Daddy," she mumbled quietly, snuggling closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled softly, glancing up at John.

It was maybe a month after he returned that he felt more comfortable, sure of him being there, and he started to feel a bit more like himself. He still woke up with nightmares, more often than he would like. One time, close to his first heat at home he'd just started crying, and Katherine found him, asking why he was sad. It was hard to explain that he didn't know.

The first time Sherlock deduced what Katherine had done at day care, and just what she'd got in trouble for (calling a boy an idiot, for which Sherlock was proud, and John stern) she had demanded that he do that to everything, everyone. She seemed to appreciate it like John had.

John beamed. "No, no one's as smart as your daddy," he agreed, kissing Sherlock's cheek. He watched Katherine closely, noticing her eyelids sagging, her head nodding a little as she fought to stay awake. It was only a few more minutes before she finally – dear god,  _finally_ – fell asleep, her head resting on Sherlock's chest. "You go put her to bed," he whispered in Sherlock's ear. "I'll get started."

Sherlock watched as Katherine fell asleep, smiling as John kissed him. "Sugar crash," he murmured, standing up slowly and holding Katherine carefully. He had whispered, though by now he knew that when Katherine was out, she was  _out_. Not at all a light sleeper like her two fathers; Sherlock wasn't quite sure where she got it from.

"Alright," he said, carrying her upstairs to tuck her in, settling her bear next to her. He looked around the room, noticing how much it had changed in the last nine months. Christ... nine months. He smiled, looking at the different colours and toys.

He stepped outside her room after turning on her nightlight and went back downstairs, grabbing presents from the hall closet shelf, where they were hidden out of Katherine's reach, even if she had a chair. "Santa" had got her a few things that she had asked for when they took her to go see him at the shopping centre. It took a while for Sherlock to find the most perfect toy violin. It was small enough for her hands, and played songs when the bow was dragged across it. It also had little places on the strings to put her fingers that taught her notes. 

He carried them into the living room, seeing John with the instructions out for a doll house. "Father Christmas can take the credit for this violin that she asked for," he said, remembering how much he'd smiled when he heard her ask Santa for a violin so she could play with her Daddy. She'd fallen in love with the instrument when Sherlock finally started playing again. "But I am getting her first  _real_  violin," he said.

John finally, after five minutes of staring, just tossed the instructions to the doll house aside and let his hands do what seemed logical. "I figured, love," he said, glancing over at Sherlock and smiling. It didn't take him all that long to put the house together once he just started working on it, and he eventually pushed it – finished – over by the tree.

"Here," he said, standing up and making his way into the kitchen. He poured two glasses of red wine and brought them back out into the living room. "Happy Christmas Eve, love," he murmured, handing Sherlock a glass and kissing his cheek.

Sherlock set down the presents, including the second one he'd gotten John – a new jumper. Sherlock thought it was particularly heinous, so that logically meant John would love it, and Sherlock would love it as soon as it was on him. He took the glass, leaning his head back to steal up John's lips and kiss him more. "Happy Christmas Eve," he said, sipping off of the wine. He sighed, looking at the mountain of biscuits. "Might as well get started I suppose," he sighed, smiling at John.

John chuckled, grabbing the plate and moving over to the sofa. He set his glass and the biscuits down, gesturing for Sherlock to sit on his lap. "May as well be comfortable while we make ourselves sick, right?"

"Right," he said, drinking a bit more of his wine and settling himself down on John's lap. He picked up a biscuit and started nibbling on it, glancing over at John. "Didn't think we'd get here... just... us. Not having to worry about anything," he said, smiling. No being sent off to Afghanistan, no Moriarty, just... them. "Tomorrow we're still going to your Mother's, yes?" he asked.

John smiled, picking up a biscuit and popping the whole thing in his mouth. He had always been bad with eating on the holidays, and now that Sherlock was around, he was much more inclined to eat. "As soon as we finish opening presents here, yes," he said, taking a sip of his wine and reaching for another biscuit, leaning his head against Sherlock's shoulder as he ate it.

 "So you're saying there won't be time tomorrow then," he said with a small smirk, looking at John. He took a larger sip of his wine. "For your other present," he said. "I thought you might like it, so... maybe you want it early?" he offered. It was something he normally didn't do but... his comfort zone was a bit larger these days. He had John back. 

John swallowed the rest of his biscuit, taking another sip of wine before looking up at Sherlock. "Sure," he said, a little hesitant, because it wasn't quite Christmas yet. But he set down his wine, looking expectantly at his mate with a small smile on his lips.

Sherlock felt his ears warm, setting aside his glass and wetting his lips. He stood up, pulling John to his feet. "You find a place for the rest of the biscuits, and gnaw on the carrots a bit. I need precisely seven minutes, then you can come back," he said, quickly disappearing down the hallway.

Maybe he was just making an idiot of himself. Probably, but other than Sherlock's heats, of which there had only been two in the last nine months since they still weren't regular, they hadn't done more than kiss and cuddle. Sherlock was determined to change that.

He went into the bathroom, pulling out the holiday eyeliner he had found. John really loved the black, but he figured the more festive green was good... maybe going with his eyes, he didn't know. He undressed and put on his dressing gown, having gotten a red one, needing a change from the old blue he had, that and it had small acid holes burned into it.

He sat on the bed, quickly remembering and moving into the wardrobe, reaching into the back and finding the Santa hat he'd got, settling it on his head, already flushing a bit.  _No_ , he would go through with it, he thought to himself, settling on the edge of the bed again to wait.

John raised his eyes at Sherlock, but he didn't argue, standing up with the plate and walking into the kitchen. He put most of the biscuits back into the tin, taking a bite out of one and setting it back on the plate. He trotted downstairs and left the tin in front of Mrs Hudson's door – she would understand – then returned to the living room, setting the mostly empty plate back on the mantle. He checked the time. Six and a half minutes was close enough.

He walked into the bedroom, stopping short just inside the threshold when he saw Sherlock sitting on the bed in nothing but a Santa hat and his dressing gown.  _Oh, fuck_. He bit his lip, closing the door and crossing over to Sherlock, noticing the green eyeliner. Still standing, he reached down and tilted Sherlock's chin up, leaning down to connect their lips and twine their tongues.

Sherlock looked up when John stepped into the room, seven minutes, he'd said  _seven_. He felt his face warm when John didn't say anything, and he was about to say something himself when John tilted Sherlock’s chin up. Sherlock met his gaze, humming a little when his mouth pressed against Sherlock's.

Sherlock leant up into the kiss, his hand wrapping around the back of John's neck, fingering the hair at the base. "Happy Christmas," he breathed against John's lips. He pulled out a bow from his dressing gown pocket. "I didn't get to put it on yet... I said seven minutes," he murmured, sticking the bow onto his chest with a smirk.

John chuckled, combing his fingers through Sherlock's hair and tugging it a little. "I don't need a bow on your chest to tell me that you're mine," he said, kissing Sherlock deeply again. He slowly pushed him back onto the bed, crawling over him and sucking on his lower lip. "Can I unwrap you, then, or do I have to wait?" he teased.

Sherlock smiled, leaning back more and lifting his head to kiss John again. "I said you can have it early," he said with a smile, nipping at John's chin. "Anything you want," he said, looking up at him.

John grinned, moving his lips down Sherlock's neck to his collarbone. He slowly pulled at the string tying the dressing gown together, pushing the two halves of the red silk open to reveal Sherlock's smooth pale chest. "God, you're gorgeous," he murmured, licking at one of his taunt pink nipples.

Sherlock hummed, shivering as John's mouth moved down his chest. He looked down at himself, seeing all the scars laid out on his torso, but John didn't seem to see those. He saw Sherlock. "Think so still?" he murmured, humming as he shifted on the bed beneath John.

"I'll always think so," John said, pushing the dressing gown from his shoulders and tossing it to the floor. "You're mine," he whispered, blowing his breath across Sherlock's chest, his fingers tracing a scar. "Always mine."

Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes, adjusting the chain around his neck. John's dog tags. He'd found them several months back and hadn't taken them off since. He couldn't take them with him, if they got lost... then they'd have John's name. So they had been returned to John along with Sherlock's other "personal effects" that had been on him when he "died."

"Always yours," he murmured.

John tugged on the chain, pulling Sherlock forward and meeting him with a hard kiss; his lips parted and his tongue roamed Sherlock's mouth. He quickly tugged off his jeans and pants, not yet wanting to break the kiss to take off his jumper. Eventually he did, though, tossing the knit material to the floor with the rest of his clothes. He met Sherlock's gaze, his pulse elevated at the green ringing his eyes. "God, you're so hot like this," he whispered, starting to kiss his way down Sherlock's body, licking and trailing his lips over each of his scars.

Sherlock shivered again, letting out a breath, his fingers knotting in John's hair as John paid attention to each of the blemishes. "I love you... John, so much," he moaned quietly, pulling John up again for a kiss, nipping all the way down his jaw and neck.

"You have no idea," John whispered, turning to give Sherlock a last kiss before he moved down the bed, settling between his legs with the bottle of lube. He licked up the length of Sherlock's cock, swirling his tongue around the tip before swallowing him down, taking him until the tip touched the back of his throat. He hummed, slowly starting to bob his head as he slicked up his fingers and trailed the tip of one around Sherlock's hole, slowly pushing inside.

Sherlock inhaled sharply as John took him into his mouth, and then teased at his entrance, pushing inside of it. "Ch-rist!" Sherlock moaned softly, moving his hips slightly, eyes rolling back in his head a bit. It was always so different outside of a heat, because then it was a rush, a need. He didn't appreciate the small things; he couldn't because they were almost painful, teasing but not what he need. Now it was different, and he took in every small sensation.

John hummed, knowing the vibrations would travel through Sherlock's length. He reached up with his free hand, setting Sherlock's hand in his hair and making a pleased sound when it was immediately tugged on. He slowly moved his finger inside of Sherlock, stretching him open before adding the second finger. His tongue moved and flicked against Sherlock's length, out of time with his slow bobs and sucks, keeping him on edge.

Sherlock whined, writhing on John's finger and tugging his hair again. "You are being... c-cruel," he stammered, gasping as John brushed up against his prostate. He moaned, pressing more into the bed, reaching up and pulling his hat off, sticking it down haphazardly onto John's head. "I... I've been good, so please..." he begged, his breaths erratic.

"You love it when I tease you, though," John said cheekily, adding a third finger and brushing his prostate. "You can't deny it." He bent his head, kissing and nipping at Sherlock's hip as he fucked him with his fingers.

Sherlock tugged on John's hair again. "I know... that's the tragic irony in it. I hate it... and lo-Ove it," he said, voice hitching slightly as John brushed his prostate again. "You're a bad man..." he breathed, a small smile on his face.

When John felt that Sherlock was open enough, he pulled away, grabbing the lube and slicking himself up as he positioned himself over Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at John as he pulled his hand from him, meeting his gaze. "Was the green a good choice, then?" he asked with a smirk.

"You tell me," John said with a smirk, slowly sinking into Sherlock until he was completely buried. He hardly rested for a second before he pulled out and slammed back in, wasting no time in picking up a quick and ruthless pace. His mouth connected with Sherlock's neck, sucking hard at a spot that could easily be hidden by the collar of his shirt.

Sherlock moaned softly as John pressed into him, his eyes closing slightly, mouth forming a perfect O. "That’s... a yes," he said, another noise escaping him as John quickly started to move. He thrust into him and Sherlock bucked his hips up a little, trying to grind up against John for the friction. "Christ!... Shit!” he swore, trying to keep his voice soft. Katherine slept like a log, but still...

John pressed his hand over Sherlock's mouth, and evil smirk lacing his lips. "Keep it down, or I'll have to gag you," he whispered, biting his lip as a moan rose up from deep in his chest. He thrust harder into Sherlock, angling his hips better and grinning madly when he hit Sherlock's prostate.

Sherlock moaned loudly into John's hand, nipping at him gently, and then accidentally too hard as John hit his prostate again. "Oh! F-" he bit down on his lip, groaning a bit as he tried to reach down and stroke himself, still moaning a bit.

John pulled his hand away from Sherlock's mouth, giving him a look that told him to be quiet or else, and then wrapped his hand around Sherlock's length. He quickened his thrusts, aiming more accurately at Sherlock's prostate, and with every jerk of his hand, he twisted his fist at the top, rubbing his thumb over the tip.

Sherlock let out a quiet yelp despite the look, his hands balling up on the bedding as John took his length in hand. "J-John!" he moaned, the name drawn out. Christ, why hadn't they done this sooner? Outside of a heat... it was perfect. He moaned again, bucking his hips up impatiently with a whine, so close…

John groaned, licking and nipping at Sherlock's collarbone. He felt his knot starting to swell, and he knew that Sherlock was right on the edge. "Come on, baby. Come for me," he whispered in Sherlock's ear, snapping his hips and burying himself in Sherlock, his knot quickly swelling to hold him in place as he came, biting down on Sherlock's shoulder to muffle the sound. His hand never stopped moving on Sherlock's cock, pushing him roughly towards release.

Sherlock moaned at the sound of John's voice, feeling John's knot swell. He buried his face into John's neck and cried out a bit as he finally came, his hips jerking up. His head rolled back and he shook as he rode out the wave of pleasure that rolled through him. He fell back into the bed, panting heavily as he went limp, trying to catch his breath. "I... I... John... _fuck_ ," he breathed, eyes fluttering but not opening.

John rested his forehead against Sherlock's chest before he finally just gave up and laid on top of him, covering him like a blanket. "Agreed," he whispered, stroking his hand along Sherlock's sweaty side as they waited for his knot to recede. "You alright?" he asked quietly, raising his head to look up at him.

Sherlock hummed, his breaths slowing down marginally. "Mhm," he murmured quietly. "S'been so long," he said. Heats were different, entirely different, and Sherlock almost wasn't himself during them. There was no challenging John back, no teasing. Just need. This time, it had been want. 

"I know," John whispered, nuzzling against Sherlock's chest and licking off some of the sweat. He had missed it terribly, had missed Sherlock terribly, but now he had him back. Everything was right in the world.

Sherlock's heart started to slow down finally and he lifted one heavy arm up and stroked John's hair lightly. "H... happy Christmas," he murmured. "Now... if you could just... take a shower for the both of us... that'd be great," he murmured. Normally they would save it for morning, but they'd have a bouncing three year old on their bed soon enough. "Have to fill the stockings... forgot to do that... as well," he breathed.

John chuckled, slipping out of Sherlock as soon as he felt his knot recede. He slowly stood, kissing Sherlock's forehead as he pulled him up with him. "Happy Christmas, love," he replied, leading Sherlock into the bathroom and starting the shower. "I'll take care of the stockings, but you have to participate with the shower."

Sherlock groaned when John pulled him up, just a small bit sore, they'd gone so fast, not that he regretted it. He sat down on the edge of the tub, humming. "Mhm... shower... right," he said stretching.

John laughed lightly, twisting on the water and stepping back, waiting for it to warm. He combed his fingers through Sherlock's hair while they waited. "You're a fantastic present. Perhaps I should unwrap you every year," he whispered before stepping inside, under the spray of warm water.

Sherlock groaned again, sliding down into the tub and curling up at the end of it, drawing the curtain closed. "Oh god, don't make me wait a year," he said, looking up at John. He reached out and stroking John's ankle gently.

John hummed, reaching for the shampoo and scrubbing it into his hair before rinsing it and washing down his body. He picked Sherlock up, kissing him gently and steadying him as he helped his Omega shower. "I won't. It would be fun to hear you start begging for it, though," he teased, stepping back from shampooing Sherlock's hair so that he could rinse.

Sherlock had been curled up, his eyes already closed when John pulled him to his feet. He hummed as John's fingers worked through his hair, and he stepped back under the spray to rinse the suds out entirely. He blinked his eyes open to look at John, not sure why he was so tired. He hadn't slept much the last few days maybe, working on a case. He smiled, wrapping his arms around John's neck as he leant into him, hugging him and allowing the Alpha to support his weight some, which wasn't a whole lot still. John had Sherlock up to two meals a day, but Sherlock still skipped sometimes. Nine months was hard to break two years of habits.

"God, I love you," John murmured, kissing Sherlock fully and reaching behind him to turn off the shower. He helped Sherlock out, drying him off before using the towel on himself, and then led him back into the bedroom. "Put these on," he said, tossing Sherlock his pyjamas before pulling on his own. "I'll be right back."

He quickly disappeared from the room to fill the stockings – mostly with candy, because what else is Christmas for if not over-indulging? When they were hung, he returned to bed, crawling in beside Sherlock.

Sherlock hummed, methodically pulling on the pyjamas and sinking down into the bed. The mess thankfully had stayed on them, and the blankets were fine, so he crawled underneath them and settled there, sprawled out across most of the bed, his head on John's pillow purposefully to scent it. He had no intention of falling asleep like that, and yet that is exactly what he did, snoring softly by the time John came back into the room.

John sighed lightly at the sight of Sherlock asleep, but he smiled. He gently picked up his head and shifted into the bed, setting Sherlock's head on his chest. "I love you," he whispered, wrapping his arm around him and slowly drifting off to sleep.

Sherlock hummed as he was shifted in the bed, but settled quickly, already asleep all the way. He woke up in the early morning, not sure why he was awake until he heard the slapping feet down the stairs, advancing down the hall to their room. He smiled, then shut his eyes again, pretending to be properly asleep.

Within a minute the door was being pushed open and the small form climbed up onto their bed silently before starting to jump up and down.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly me...I forgot to update yesterday. Sincere apologies! Work was killer so...yeah. Also, important announcement at the end of the chapter.

"Christmas!" Katherine squealed. "Christmas Christmas Christmas! Santa came!" she giggled. "Wakeupwakeupwakeup!"

John groaned, slowly opening his eyes to see Katherine bouncing up and down on the bed, her curls fanning around her face. He smiled, pushing Sherlock's shoulder gently to wake him. "Alright, then," he said drowsily, "lead the way."

Sherlock smiled. "’m already up," he said, tilting his head up to kiss John on the cheek. "Happy Christmas," he murmured as Katherine slid off the bed haphazardly and grabbed John's hand, tugging on it as she tried to drag him out of bed. "Come on, Papa! Presents! Santa came! Ate all the cookies!" she said, pulling with all her weight. Sherlock sat up, his hair sticking every which way from sleep, much like Katherine's did. 

John laughed, rolling out of bed and stifling a yawn as he followed Katherine out of the room. He beamed when Katty squealed at the sight of the dollhouse. Before Katherine could tear into any of her other presents, he snatched up his present to Sherlock, holding it in his lap as he waited for Sherlock.

Sherlock wandered out into the living room right after John and Katherine, seeing her already sitting in front of the doll house, exploring the rooms inside of it. He smiled, reaching down and scooping up his present for John, as well as the jumper that was from Santa.

"Looks like you were good," he said, holding the soft package out, still holding onto the camera. Katherine looked at the other presents with big eyes, and Sherlock smiled, picking up the one that had the violin. "Why not try this one?" he asked.

She took it happily, shredding the paper in what he was sure was record time. She gasped. "Violin!" she said, bouncing up and down. "Like Daddy's!!!" she said, jumping up to show the both of them. 

John grinned, pretending to be surprised. "Exactly like Daddy's. Now you two can play together." He glanced sideways at Sherlock, taking the soft package from him and opening it, holding out the jumper inside. He beamed. "It's lovely, dear," he said earnestly, standing up to give Sherlock a kiss before sitting back down, still holding onto his present.

"Yeah I know... Santa apparently knows your taste," Sherlock murmured, smiling down at Katherine when she held up the instrument. She beamed, grabbing another present and tearing it open to find a collection of children's stories.

"Katty, why not give Daddy the present that you got for him?" John suggested, pointing to the wrapped box that held the new bow.

Katherine looked at John and nodded, grabbing a long thin present, holding it out to Sherlock. "Here, Daddy!" she said proudly.

Sherlock smiled, tearing the paper off and gasped a little for her. "A new bow... wow Katty, it's beautiful. Thank you," he said warmly, running his hand over it gently. "We'll have to try it out," he said. He looked over at John, handing him the package with John's camera in it. "For you," he murmured softly.

John raised his eyebrows at the second present, not expecting two. He took it, smiling over at Katty as she ripped open another present, this one containing dolls and furniture for her house. Opening up his own package, he tipped out a camera box, beaming over at Sherlock. "Thank you, love. Really. It'll be nice to actually have a proper one."

He looked down at the small, wrapped box in his lap. It contained a pen, which was the gag part of it, because he had the papers in the kitchen for Sherlock to sign. "I'll be right back," he said, handing Sherlock the present and moving to head into the kitchen so that he could get the papers. "Go on and open it." He smiled, padding softly into the kitchen.

Sherlock took the small present, watching as Katherine meticulously started placing the furniture in the large dollhouse, deciding which room was which and changing her mind, not paying attention to the last few presents or her stocking just yet. He opened the present in his hands, pulling the lid off the box to see a nice pen inside. He smirked. "Is this because I'm constantly asking you for one?" he asked over his shoulder towards the kitchen, watching Katherine still.

John grabbed up the papers, smirking as he walked back into the living room. "Partly," he said, actually having not thought of that, "but mostly it's for signing these." He handed over the papers, retaking his seat. "I thought it might be nice to get away every once and awhile," he explained.

Sherlock furrowed his brow as the papers were handed to him, seeing that John had already signed them, but they needed a second signature. He looked up at John, blinking a few times. "You... you got us a house?" he asked, shocked.

Katherine looked over towards the papers. "You get a house too Daddy?" she asked, still arranging hers, surrounded in a small nest of wrapping paper.

Sherlock smiled at her, then looking at John. "Are you sure? I... where is it?" he asked.

"It's a little cottage. Two bedrooms and one and a half bath. Just a bit larger than here," John explained, twisting his hands together. "It's in the country, back in the woods outside of Cardiff. I just... thought it might be nice to find a place to get away if we ever wanted to."

Sherlock smiled a little, getting up and crossing over to John's chair, climbing up into John's lap and kissing him, holding his face gently in his hands. "I love you," he said, wrapping his arms around him. "It's perfect," he said with a smile. He didn't think they'd ever move there... but then, Cardiff... bound to be murders there right? Maybe when Katherine was older, or moved out. He could keep bees. He sighed. "God, I need to stop thinking before I see us getting old. We're in our twenties for Christ's sake," he said with a smile.

John smiled gently, kissing Sherlock back and holding his waist. "I'm glad you like it," he murmured. "And yes, stop your thoughts before we hit forty, please," he teased, leaning up to kiss him again.

After a while, Katty opened up the last of her presents and he handed out stockings.

Sherlock smiled, cuddling close to John as they watched Katherine. She was pleased as punch by the Rubik’s cube in Sherlock's sock. Perhaps John thought he was being funny, knowing full well the damned cubes were something Sherlock had trouble with. Katherine wanted to play with it though, liking the colours, so he obliged, and she took it to the table, sitting it on her lap as she ate.

John forced them all to sit down at the table for a proper breakfast as it was now finally an appropriate time for eating, and then asked Katherine to go get dressed. "We've got to go to Gran Gran's, remember?"

"But want to play," she whined, looking back at her dollhouse and violin that she'd yet to try, since it had to come out of its box still.

John smirked. "Well, do you want me to call your Gran and tell her that we'll come later or what?" he asked, casting a look at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye.

Katherine fidgeted a little, looking down at the cube in her lap. "No... I think... going to get dressed now," she said, sliding off the chair and leaving the cube on the table before dashing upstairs to throw on god knew what kind of outfit.

Sherlock was fine letting her dress herself. Apparently it encouraged creativity and independence. "Such a strong moral compass... gets that from you I think," he murmured with a smile.

John chuckled, folding his arms on the table and pillowing his head on top of them. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night, and damned if he wasn't tired. "She might get it from me. Or she's just a three year old that wants presents," he teased, closing his eyes and humming quietly.

"So... when do we go to the cottage?" Sherlock asked, leaning on the table a little.

"I don't know,;when do you want to go?" John asked. "Tomorrow seems a bit early."

Sherlock smirked. "Maybe," he murmured, reaching over with one hand and brushing his fingers through John’s blond hair. "Yours is getting longer than normal," he murmured. John had sheared Sherlock’s locks ages ago, and it was getting a bit long as well, but at least this time the false colour was gone. There was still some of it left last time. "We can go when you like. Wouldn't mind spending the New Year there maybe. Just us three," he murmured softly.

John smiled, humming and leaning into Sherlock's hand. "That would be nice. We could take off day after tomorrow, I suppose, give us the day to pack." He hummed again, shifting over so that he was closer to Sherlock. "I want to go there for your next heat, too," he whispered, leaning over to nuzzle against him.

Sherlock nodded a little, leaning against John. He looked at him when he mentioned Sherlock's next heat. "I don't know when it is though," he said with a small smile. "They've been so erratic, I've only had two where I should have had three..." he said, shaking his head a little and resting his head on John's shoulder. "It's been nine months and they still haven't sorted themselves out," he said, yawning a little himself. 

John made a noise and shrug of agreement, turning his head to kiss Sherlock's temple. "True. Alright, then. We'll go over New Year's and then we'll see, I guess. It's furnished, so that's a plus," he murmured, kissing down to Sherlock's jaw.

Sherlock hummed, nodding a little. He looked at John, smiling. "Why don't we go for a while then?" he asked. "Just us," he said. "We can ask your mum to watch Katherine. Spend New Years here... and go up after. Stay until my birthday or something..." he murmured. "Can bring inducers, because... I think that's the only way I'll be able to get them back on track," he said, nuzzling close to John.

John hummed contently, wrapping his arm around Sherlock's waist and stroking his thumb over his side. "I like that idea," he murmured. "I'm sure Mum would love to have some time to Katty all by herself, and I think Katty would enjoy it as well." He tilted Sherlock's lips towards him with two fingers under his chin. "And I would love to have you all to myself."

Sherlock smiled, kissing John and nuzzling his nose against John's cheek. "All to yourself," he murmured, liking that idea. God he'd missed it - belonging to someone.

The laws were different now from the nearly five years since John saved him and Mycroft cracked down more on Omega auction houses. It had been more of a radical change, Omegas no longer owned like slaves. There was abuse still, but the belt was tightening, and they could no longer be sold. There were still places that some chose to send their children when they presented, but they were treated well. Some are better than others, in what classes they offer, etc., and they have freedom to go out.

"Sometimes... I think if the laws hadn't changed, I might like you to take my title back," he murmured, loving being John's, but marrying him would suffice. "It's better though... I feel better, for Katherine," he murmured.

"If the laws hadn't changed, I probably would have taken your title back, just so that no one could take you from me," John murmured, combing absently through Sherlock's hair. "And with Katherine... it's nice not having to worry about the life she'll have, no matter what she presents as."

He stood up then, taking Sherlock's hand and tugging him up. "We ought to go get dressed, so that when she comes down, we're ready."

Sherlock smiled, happy that John would want him. He leant into John's hand a little with a soft sigh, but he stood up, following John down into the room.

He pulled on a dark green shirt and some trousers, turning to look at John. "I don't need a tie, do I?" he asked. "Our first Christmas together with Katherine we didn't go to your mother's," he said, walking into the bathroom to try and tame his hair a little.

Katherine came prancing into the bathroom then in her little Christmas dress that she had picked out, climbing up onto her stool. Sherlock had taken on the job of doing her hair - he was surprisingly good at it – and so he started pulling her curls away from her face and pinning it back.

John tugged on the new jumper Sherlock had given him, a pair of nice jeans underneath. "No, love," he said, walking into the bathroom as well to pat down his bed hair. "You don't need a tie." He smiled at the sight of Sherlock pinning up Kat's hair - something he would probably never really get used to seeing. He loved it. "You look beautiful, Katty," he complimented, tucking in the tag at the back of her neck.

Katherine smiled. "Thank you Papa... it's swirly swirly," she said, twisting her hips a little to make the puffed up part of the dress fan out.

"Hold still Katty... nearly done," Sherlock murmured, finishing her hair. He looked down at her and sighed. "You go get a pair of stockings, or your legs are going to freeze," he said, looking at her bare legs. "The white ones; I'll help you get them on."

She nodded, taking off back upstairs.

He smiled, looking back at John, smiling at the jumper. It suited him.

John laughed, walking up to Sherlock and standing on his toes for a kiss. "Look at you, so smug. As if you ever doubted how it would look," he teased, kissing Sherlock again before dropping back onto his heels. He led Sherlock back into the living room, leaning against the back of his chair as Katherine came bounding back down the stairs with her white stockings.

Sherlock scooped up Katherine, sitting her on the sofa and working her antsy legs into the stockings, getting them pulled up before popping on her shiny black shoes. "Beautiful. Like always," he said with a smile, wrapping his arms around her again with a smile as he sat down with her on his lap. Katherine smiled, putting both her hands on the sides of Sherlock's face. 

"Think I remember Daddy from ‘afore," she said, pressing a small kiss to his nose.

Sherlock smiled warmly. She'd said it before, even when he'd first come back. It made him smile every time. She didn't remember him really... but she was his pup, and she probably recognised his scent some, not understanding it as that yet.

John smiled down at the two of them. His two people. His. God, how he loved them both. "Really?" John asked, playing along, though it wasn't the first time he had heard it from her. "What do you remember?" He grinned when Sherlock caught his eye, and then he bent over to slip his shoes on, gesturing with a nod of his head that it was time for them to get going.

Sherlock stood up, setting Katherine down to pull on her coat and hat, as well as his coat and scarf before lifting her up again.

"Ah 'member Daddy playing violin, and holding me, and kissing Papa," Katherine said with assurance, nodding several times. "And playing... playing with Daddy's hair," she said, reaching up and tugging on it a little as example.

Sherlock winced, glancing over at John. He didn't remember telling Katherine about her tugging on his hair; he knew she never did that with John when she was an infant, just Sherlock.

John shoved down the small amount of shock that rose on his face when Katherine mentioned the hair. He met Sherlock's gaze as he tugged on his jacket and snatched up his wallet and keys. How was it possible that Katty could actually remember? She had hardly been a year old at the time.

Sherlock carried Katherine downstairs and tried to hail a cab. There weren't that many of them available, but he found one after a minute, climbing into it but keeping Katherine on his lap, holding her close. He looked over at John, stroking the curls at the base of her neck. He let out a breath, rocking her a little. "Yeah... you used to play with my hair," he murmured.

John smiled, watching Katherine grin and squeal with delight. It still astounded him that she remembered; his earliest memories were from around three or four years old. Then again, she was more Sherlock's daughter than his own, so he guessed he shouldn't have been surprised.

Sherlock bounced Katherine gently, scooting closer to John and leaning against him as the cab continued to go along to Mindy's house. Katherine soon got distracted by the snow flying outside, pressing her hands and face against the glass. Sherlock smiled at her, then looked at John.

"There been any word from Harry and Clara?" he asked. Last he'd heard they were going away for their own holiday, Christmas being around the time that Clara had saved Harry from the auction house. 

John shook his head. "Not since her first text, telling me that they were going away for a couple of weeks. I'm assuming they're having a grand time," he said with a wink, reaching over and running the back of his fingers down Katty's cheek. "Unusual amount of snow this year," he commented, staring at the accumulated inches. "I don't really mind, because Katty loves it, but if we get any more, they'll probably shut down the transport systems."

Sherlock smirked a little at John's remark, looking out at the snow.

Katherine nodded. "Love snow!" she said with a grin.

Sherlock looked over at John, taking his hand. "We won't need the transport; I figured on borrowing a vehicle from Mycroft. Something that can handle the snow easily enough," he said quietly, resting his head on John's shoulder.

John nodded, thankful that they could rely on Mycroft when they needed him, even if it was only for transportation.

A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of his mum's house. He paid the driver and took Katherine's hand, leading her out so that Sherlock didn't have to struggle with her as he got out.

Katherine hopped out of the cab, quickly moving her feet in small steps to crunch in the snow, giggling a little.

Sherlock climbed out of the cab, taking John's other hand as they walked up to the house. Sherlock nervously adjusted his hair a bit again. He had only seen John's mother once since he'd been back, and that was because she'd taken poorly with pneumonia and was in the hospital. The timing had just never worked out, and he supposed he'd been putting it off. As perceptive as the woman was, and how hurt John had been? He'd almost taken away her son forever, how close he got to that ledge. "Should have worn the bloody tie," he mumbled under his breath, nervous. 

"I don't like how you look in a tie," John said, taking his hand from both Sherlock and Katherine and knocking on the door. A few short moments later, his mum opened the door.

Mindy beamed at them all, wrapping her arms around John first and kissing his cheek. She did the same to Katherine, who was much more interested in the snow than she was in her grandmother, and finally she turned to Sherlock, who was so obviously nervous that it wasn't even funny. "You're late," she told him, stepping forward and wrapping him in a hug as well. "Now come inside," she said, stepping back and gesturing at them all, "before you get cold."

Sherlock swallowed, watching Mindy embrace his two people. He stiffened a little when she wrapped her arms around him as well, swallowing again. "The... the snow made the driver get here slower... and Katherine wanted to play," he murmured, explaining their lateness, though he had a feeling as they walked inside that she didn't mean late for Christmas.

Mindy nodded, waiting for them to take off their coats and shoes. "John, will you do me a favour and pour us all a mug of eggnog?" she asked, gesturing for Sherlock to follow her.

John noticed the gesture and quickly agreed. "Katty, can you help me?" he asked, taking her hand and leading her into the kitchen, but not before he squeezed Sherlock's hand and gave his mother a look.

"Okay, Papa," Katherine said, following along with John into the kitchen, oblivious to the silent conversation.

Mindy sighed. "Come on. The presents are upstairs. We may as well bring them down."

Sherlock looked over at John, his nervousness not going away in the slightest.

He nodded, walking up the steps behind Mindy to get the presents, and listen to whatever it was that Mindy wanted to say to Sherlock, that she didn't want to say in front of John.

Mindy led the way upstairs, walking over to a small office where she had been keeping the presents. She paused when she was inside, turning to face Sherlock. Her eyes skimmed his face, taking in everything, before she spoke. "You know, it was an idiotic thing to do," she said quietly.

She had watched John fall apart, had seen him crumble into someone who wasn't her son, staying strong only for Katherine. "I've never seen him like that, and I don't mean that in a good way." She stepped forward, tilting Sherlock's chin to the side and tapping his bondmark. "This isn't for nothing. He's not like that around other people. You can't see it, but I've known him his whole life. You are literally the only person in the world that he loves with his whole heart, and your daughter is a very close second." She cupped his neck with her hand, which was so much smaller and more frail than his. "But I'm not going to be mad at you, love. I can see that you had selfless reasons."

Sherlock felt his stomach drop when Mindy mentioned his bondmark, her hand falling to rest on it. He swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. He knew that what he had done had almost destroyed John, but if he hadn't done it then it would have completely destroyed him. He let out a breath, looking down, his face warm with shame.

"I never wanted to leave them..." he said quietly. "I didn't... I hated myself, but..." he shook his head; he couldn't tell her everything. Even nine months later, he hadn't told John everything. The story of Victor Trevor had been enough, and John had memorised his scars by now. "I'm sorry I did that to him," he said quietly.

Mindy smiled softly up at Sherlock, knowing that he had suffered enough without her yelling and nagging at him. "I know you didn't. And I know that you've gone through hell to come back. And you did come back." She patted his cheek in a motherly way, turning around and picking up her share of presents. "Just don't do it again," she said, walking down the stairs.

Sherlock shook his head, though she couldn't see it. "I don't plan on it," he murmured softly, picking up the group of presents and carrying them downstairs, walking into the living room and setting them down, settling himself onto the corner of the sofa and curling up there. He didn't dare put a toe out of line while he was here; sure, Mindy said she wasn't going to be mad at him, but still...

"About time you guys showed up," John said, walking out into the living room, balancing three mugs of eggnog.

Katherine ran past him, squealing as she looked for a present with her name on it.

He smiled, handing one of the mugs to his mum and then walking over to sit down beside Sherlock, handing him his mug and then taking a sip of his own. "Katherine, where are your manners?" he asked, arching an eyebrow as she grabbed a present and was about to tear into it.

Katherine looked up at John, setting the present down sheepishly. "’m sorry," she said quietly, sniffing a little and rubbing her nose.

Sherlock sighed. Wonderful... another cold.

Katherine looked around, seeing the letters and names on the presents. She blinked, seeing an “Sh” on one. "Daddy's!" she said, pulling out a small package and walking over to the sofa and setting it on Sherlock's lap, then walking over to her Gran Gran and leaning up to kiss her cheek. "Happy Christmas, Gwan Gwan," she said, her pronunciation off a bit. She walked back to the tree, found a present with a “J,” and set it on her papa's lap. 

John smiled, kissing the top of Katherine's head when she was close. He’d noticed the sniffle as well - they'd have to give her medicine when she got home. He leant over against Sherlock, looking down at the packages on their laps and then up at his mother.

Mindy shrugged, smirking as she turned her attention back to Katherine. "The rest are yours, Katherine," she said, gesturing to the five remaining gifts. "Go ahead and open them."

Katherine smiled, shredding the paper off of the packages and finding the puzzles inside. She smiled, shaking the boxes a little as she listened to the pieces inside. She got to work on the other presents, with Sherlock watching her fondly.

He sighed, gently tracing a line in the wrapping paper of his present, glancing over at John. "You go ahead," he said, nodding towards John's present.

John nudged Sherlock gently, but he complied, taking a moment to smile down at Katty first. He opened up his present, already knowing what it was going to be before he pulled it out of the wrapping. He laughed, looking at the horrid pattern on the red and green jumper before pulling it on over his head. "You outdid yourself this year, Mum," he teased, looking over at Sherlock and gesturing at him to open his. "It's tradition. You have to," he said fondly.

Sherlock looked down at his present, realising then what it was. He swallowed, then tore off the paper, seeing the jumper that sat in his lap. Purple and Green, the pattern... almost indiscernible. So this was his punishment then... he wasn't really one for jumpers, not at all. Still, he smiled, thanking Mindy and pulling it on over his shirt, glad he'd worn the green shirt. He adjusted the jumper, glancing at John and seeing the concealed look on his face there. He would pay John back later for that.

John had to fight down his laugh at the look of 'save me' in Sherlock's eyes, and he winked over at his mother, loving every moment of Sherlock's obvious discomfort. Sherlock needed to learn how to relax a little, and besides, this meant that his mum had completely forgiven him, so there was no reason to be upset.

Mindy nodded at Sherlock, complimenting how it looked on him. She turned her attention to Katherine then, watching her open the last of her presents. She stood with a happy sound, running over and wrapping her arms around Mindy's neck, which she happily returned.

Sherlock felt his ears burning under his curls. He smiled as Katherine got up and climbed onto Mindy's lap, hugging her. He leant against John and tipped his chin up to kiss him.

"I'm not going to forget this," he whispered softly into John’s ear. "Oh, and you might want to ask about us going to the cottage... her taking Katherine after New Year," he murmured quietly. 

John hummed, turning to kiss Sherlock's cheek. "I was planning to, don't worry," he murmured, grasping Sherlock's hand loosely and turning towards his mother. He took a sip of his eggnog before he opened his mouth to ask.

"Don't bother," Mindy said with a smile before John could say a word. “I know what you got him for Christmas. Harry helped you find it, so naturally I was in the loop." She smiled, releasing Katherine when she wiggled to get free. "Pack her a bag and then you two boys go on and head out. Enjoy some time to yourselves; I know you haven't had any yet."

Sherlock looked over at Katherine as she slid off Mindy's lap, walking over to the tree, only to stop, looking back at them both. "Pack bag?" she asked, confused. "Going away?" she asked, walking over to her fathers.

Sherlock smiled softly. "You're going to spend some time with your Gran Gran while your Papa and I go away for a little bit," he said.

Katherine shifted a little on her feet, an almost worried look on her face. "G-go away?" she asked quietly, looking over at Sherlock, and he felt his stomach drop. She thought he was leaving again... and taking John away from her too this time. 

"Oh, sweetie," John murmured, lifting Katherine up and holding her tightly on his lap. "Not like that. We're just going on holiday for a bit. Your daddy and I need to spend some time alone together to sort some things out, and then we'll be back. Seven days at the most, I promise," he whispered, kissing her cheek. "You know I would never leave you. I made you a promise, didn't I?" It had been right after his incident at Bart's, when he had felt the most vulnerable and broken. Katherine had asked him where he had gone and told him that she was worried that he wasn't coming back, and he had promised that he would never leave. 

Katherine cuddled close to John, nodding a little. "Made promise," she said quietly, running her hand along the soft jumper.

Sherlock stayed silent. He'd put that fear of abandonment in his daughter, and into John. He'd done that. He swallowed. Maybe them going wasn't that good of an idea.

He let out a breath. "Erm... I'm… bathroom," he murmured, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Katherine's forehead and exiting the room and heading upstairs.

John looked up, watching Sherlock leave the room. He let out a small breath, setting Katty on the ground and telling her to go play. He excused himself and quickly trotted up the stairs, knocking on the bathroom door and pushing it slowly open. "Sherlock? What's wrong, love?"

Sherlock was pacing the bathroom, his arms wrapped around himself. He looked over at John when he came in and shook his head, still pacing. "Nothing... I'm fine," he mumbled, his arms still wrapped around himself. "You know... I did that... I made her afraid that you'll leave. That I'll leave, and never come back," he said, his eyes stinging. "I made her afraid," he said. "I made you afraid," he added softly.

John bit his lip, shutting the door behind himself. He walked up to Sherlock, stopping his movements by wrapping his arms firmly around him, holding him in place. "Shh," he breathed, stroking his hand along his back, nuzzling against his neck and inhaling his scent. "Shh, love, you're alright. We're alright, I promise," he murmured, kissing Sherlock's skin, following a tendon up his neck to his jaw.

Sherlock looked down, still holding himself as his movements halted. He ducked his face into John's neck, inhaling shakily. He swallowed thickly, nodding a small bit. He let out a breath, closing his eyes. "You mother... I almost wish she'd been angry, that she'd told me not to come back... I-" What was it he wanted? Did he want someone to hate him as much as he still sometimes hated himself?

"Maybe it's not a good idea... maybe we should take her with or... or not go at all," he said quietly.

John shook his head. "No," he said firmly, pulling back a little to cup Sherlock's face in his hands. "She's going to develop an attachment disorder if we don't start separating ourselves from her every once in a while. She'll be with Mum; she'll be fine," he said confidently, leaning up to kiss Sherlock gently. "I promise, this is going to be a good thing for everyone involved."

Sherlock avoided John's eyes for a moment, only flicking his vision to him occasionally while he spoke. "But what if something happens? She's getting a cold, what if she has a nightmare?" he asked, starting to feel more anxious about leaving than he thought. Her bear, that was their bedtime routine... it never occurred to him how hard he might find it to leave her.

John pushed Sherlock back, closing the toilet lid and then forcing him to sit down on it. He quickly straddled Sherlock's lap, tilting his chin up and kissing him slowly, distracting him for a moment until he knew he had his attention.

Sherlock sank onto the toilet, leaning into the kisses gently, looking at John when he pulled away.

"My mother has raised two pups. I'm extremely confident in her ability to watch after Katherine for a week," he murmured against Sherlock's lips, brushing their noses together. "And Katherine adores her, and we can call every day. Alright?" he asked, running his hand up Sherlock's chest and kissing him again. 

He swallowed. "I wasn't doubting her..." he said. "I'll miss her," he said quietly. "I know I will, because I did everyday before, and I didn't know I'd see her again," he murmured, his arms wrapping around John's middle. He was being silly, he knew he was, this was stupid. He swallowed, letting out a breath and scenting John's neck again. 

"I'll miss her too, Sherlock," John murmured, nuzzling against Sherlock's neck. "But we all need to get used to a little separation. We'll all be okay," he promised, inhaling Sherlock's scent and closing his eyes as it washed over him. "And besides, we need to fix your heat cycle, and we can't do that when she's around."

Sherlock let out a breath. The only times he'd been away from her was for four days total, that first day in the hospital when Molly had her. And then the only other heat he'd had in that time, when she'd been with Mindy. He let out a breath, nodding slowly. "I know," he murmured. "I know."

"Okay then," John whispered, kissing Sherlock again and combing through his hair. "Let's go back downstairs; I'm sure Katty wants to show off her new toys," he said, sliding off of Sherlock's lap and pulling him up with him. He wrapped him in another hug, nuzzling against his shoulder, before he drew away, leading him downstairs and back onto the sofa.

Sherlock stayed close to John, holding onto his hand firmly. He settled onto the sofa just as Katherine climbed up with a stuffed horse that whinnied when you squeezed its hoof. He smiled, pressing the button when directed to.

He picked up his mug of eggnog and sipped off of it, glancing over at Mindy with a small nod, letting out a breath.

Mindy nodded back, smiling. She was glad that the two of them could get away. She wasn't quite sure about them, but most relationships would need some time after what those two had been through. A week would be good for them.

John smiled at Katty, squeezing the horse's hoof and laughing along with her as it snorted at them. He leant forward, kissing her forehead and squeezing Sherlock's hand. "Can we drop her off early tomorrow morning, then?" he asked, looking up at his mother, who nodded. 

Tomorrow already? Sherlock let out a breath, looking at Katherine, who still didn't seem too happy with them leaving. Sherlock bounced his knees a little. "Hey... you're going to have fun with your Gran though, aren't you?" he asked softly. "She’s probably going to spoil you senseless with biscuits and the like," he murmured softly into her ear, eliciting a giggle from the three year old.

John nodded, smiling. "Oh, yes. You'll most likely make a gingerbread house and little gingerbread men to go along with it."

Mindy laughed, standing up to take her mug into the kitchen. "Volunteering me already? Well, I'll send it home with you then, and you can clean up the crumbling mess when she eats it," she said with a wink.

Katherine giggled again, bouncing a small bit. "Want make ging-bread house!" she said with a smile, seeming to forget her anxiety of her fathers leaving. Sherlock looked at her gently. If only it was that easy for him. He sighed, gently rubbing her back. 

John looked over a little sadly at Sherlock, reaching over to rub his shoulder. "It'll be alright," he promised. They needed some time alone. They really did need to sort a few things out, to get back into the swing of how they had been before. And on top of all of that, they needed to realign Sherlock's heat cycle, which was starting to worry him.

Sherlock nodded, sighing softly. "Yeah... of course it will," he said with a small smile, letting Katherine slide off his lap, where she settled on the floor, playing with the toys she'd received. He wet his lips, leaning against John and resting his head on his shoulder. "Perfectly fine."

He looked up at Mindy. "Erm... did you need any help with dinner?" he asked, knowing the ham was already in the oven; he could smell it. He still wasn't the best at cooking, but he offered none the less.

Mindy shook her head, retaking her seat in her chair. "Don't be ridiculous. It's been so long since I've cooked for more than just myself. It's nice." She crossed her legs, resting her hands on her knee and smiling at them kindly.

John hummed, tilting his head against Sherlock's, and looped his arm around his waist. He wanted to hold him in his lap, but he could settle for this.

Sherlock nodded a little, turning his attention back to Katherine. He felt John's arm wrap around him, and he sighed softly, smiling a little. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Lovelies! So we're getting close (ish?) to the end of this part of "Always" and we've got an announcement. Due to the sheer size of this fic and the fact that we're both busy with school and work, etc...
> 
> We've decided to do things a bit differently with uploading starting with part four. We're not gonna stop posting it, we're just going to take a different approach. We wouldn't want to leave you hanging without knowing what happens to our boys next. 
> 
> After our editing hiatus we are going to post each section in bulk rather than weekly chapters. You'll get it all at once. Sort of like Orange is the New Black, but with less prison and less than a year wait between sections. This was the only solution that works with our schedules that wasn't not posting all together. 
> 
> We love you all and happy reading! <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap! Sorrysorrysorry for being late...again. School is crazy...and just got a bit caught up. Sorry lovelies!

Sherlock's foot was bouncing in the car they'd borrowed from Mycroft as they rode back to Mindy's house the next day.

Dinner had gone well. Harry and Clara had called from where they were in France, wishing them a Happy Christmas.

He sighed, looking through Katherine's bag again to make sure she had everything. A week... a whole week they would be gone, and Sherlock still felt anxious about it. Katherine was excited now though, still wanting to make her 'ging-bread' house.

He smiled softly, glancing out the window as John continued to drive. He looked back at Katherine, who was in a car seat. "You'll be very good for your Gran, won't you?" he asked, and she nodded quickly, rubbing her nose a little again.

"Sherlock," John said soothingly, reaching over to still his hands without taking his eyes off of the road, "everything's going to be fine, alright?" He had made sure to pack medicine for Katty and her bear as well, having already explained the story of the stuffed animal to his mother. He pulled over when they reached her house, getting out and walking around to help Katherine out of her car seat.

Sherlock swallowed, watching John get out of the car. He climbed out of the large vehicle, given to them so the snow wouldn't present a problem. He knelt down and wrapped his arms around Katherine. "I love you, and we're going to call everyday. Daddy's coming back," he murmured. "I promise, baby girl... promise," he said, throat tight.

Katherine smiled a little. "I know Daddy," she said, pulling away and pressing a small kiss to his cheek. "Papa says you both going to have fun," she said. 

John chuckled, taking Katty's hand and the bag from Sherlock and walking up to the door. Mindy had it open before he could knock, and she took the bag from him so that he could hug Katherine. He kissed her forehead quickly, waved goodbye to both of them, and then trotted back to Sherlock.

He leant up on his toes, kissing him gently. "Come on. It's a bit of a drive," he said softly, walking around to the other side to slide into the driver’s door.

Sherlock let out a breath, waving gently at Katherine, who was smiling at them and holding onto Mindy's hand. He swallowed, climbing into the car and watching the house pull away. "She'll be fine," he told himself. "Perfectly okay... everything's good," he said, his fingers twisting together a little. Truth was... maybe he was nervous. He hadn't been alone with John since he came back. His heats didn't count, he wasn't him all the way, and the focus was what was happening now... not what had happened before.

"Hey." John reached over, taking one of Sherlock's hands in his own and squeezing it tightly. "You're alright. We're both alright." He glanced over at Sherlock, his eyebrows knitting in worry. "Talk to me about it, please. Whatever's bothering you… I want to know so that I can help."

Sherlock swallowed, shaking his head. "Nothing's wrong... just worrying is all," he said. "It's my job; I'm her dad," he mumbled quietly, glancing out the window. "It's probably just my cycles," he said quietly. “Them being off schedule, my... my hormones are all... out of order," he said.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand again. "Love, if you're not going to relax even a little and just breathe, I'm turning around and we can spend the next week at home." He came to a stop at a red light, looking over at Sherlock with raised eyebrows. "You are alright."

Sherlock looked over at John, letting out a breath. "I know... I'm sorry. And no, I want to go," he said, swallowing thickly. "Perhaps it's silly, after I left for so long the first time. I don't know, it's different I guess. Because she had you, and I wasn't leaving for myself, I was leaving for her." He shook his head. "I'm okay... you're right. Let's go; I... I'll settle some, I promise," he said with a small smile.

John smiled back, lifting his hand to cup Sherlock's cheek. He swiftly leant over to give him a kiss before the light changed and they were moving again. He turned on the radio at some point, listening to the music in the background as they drove out of town, keeping the speed minimal on the snow-covered roads.

Sherlock smiled softly as they continued to drive, and he listened to the music playing; a classical station he noticed with a small smile, looking out the window at the snow covered buildings as they proceeded.

Eventually everything thinned out and they were surrounded by snow covered fields and small buildings. He looked over at John fondly, watching him watch the road. "Did we bring everything we need?" he asked quietly after they'd been driving for a while. "The... erm, inducers and such?" he asked quietly, feeling a little nervous about taking those as well. The last time he had... that hadn't been a fond memory.

John nodded. "They're in my medical bag," he said, turning off of the main road and onto a narrower one. "Don't worry, love. I'm not going to make you take them if you don't want to." He smiled softly to himself as they became rather suddenly surrounded by pine trees, the branches nearly touching the vehicle on both sides.

Sherlock let out a breath. "I know you wouldn't," he said softly, looking around them. "Just how exactly did you find this place?" he asked, looking back at John. "And should I close my eyes? It is a gift after all," he said with a small smile, trying to not think about London, or Katherine. If Mindy could handle John  _and_  Harry, then she could definitely handle Katherine. 

"Clara heard about it from someone she works with, and she told Harry, who said they couldn't afford it, and she, in turn, told me," John explained, slowing down as he lost track of exactly where the road was through the snow, but he managed to stay on it. "Keep your eyes open, I want you to get the full effect," he said, just as they rounded a corner and the log and stone cabin appeared out of a grove of trees.

Sherlock nodded a little, looking outside of the windscreen. His mouth fell open and he gaped at the small cabin that came into view. He let out a breath, swallowing thickly as the car pulled to a stop. "John..." he breathed, looking at it. "It's beautiful... truly, it is. Perfect," he murmured, glancing at John. "And ours?" he asked smiling a little. 

"Of course it's ours," John said with a smile, turning off the car and climbing out to grab his bags. "I didn't drag you all the way out here to spend the week in a cabin that belongs to my mum." He winked as he passed Sherlock, walking up to the front door and unlocking it. He dumped his bags inside, walking a couple meters in to turn up the heat a couple degrees. It had been running, but not as warm as he wanted it.

Sherlock climbed out of the car and grabbed a couple more bags, walking over to the cabin and stepping inside of it, dropping the bags down in the entry and looking around. It was a bit dark, but it was nice. Wood wall, large stone fireplace. He looked back at John and wrapped his arms tightly around John. "I love it," he said, kissing him gently. 

John grinned, settling his hands on Sherlock's hips. "Wait til you see the bedroom," he said, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

He took Sherlock's hand, picking up their bags with his other, and led him through the small living room to a hallway at the far side of it. To the right was the bathroom, which had a huge bathtub, and straight ahead was the large bedroom with the four poster king-sized bed and bearskin rug on the floor. It's own small fireplace was situated on one wall. "I basically bought it for this room," he murmured, dropping the bags and leaning against Sherlock, his arm wrapped around his waist.

Sherlock grinned, following John down the hall and pausing as he saw the room. He let out a breath, stunned by it. "I... see why," he said, looking over at John and smiling. "It's wonderful. Perfect," he said, wrapping his arms around John's neck and sighing. "It's all perfect," he said quietly, scenting John's neck. "You're perfect," he breathed.

John smiled, holding tightly to Sherlock and nuzzling against his shoulder. "Not as perfect as you, but I'll take what I can get," he teased, backing Sherlock farther into the room. "I'm going to change into something more comfortable," he said, stepping away and picking up his bag to unpack it into the chest of drawers. "Are we planning on christening the new bed tonight or tomorrow night?" he asked with a wink over his shoulder.

Sherlock leant over to pick up his bag and walked over to the other set of drawers, glancing over his shoulder when John mentioned the bed. He felt his ears warm a bit, and he looked back towards the clothes he was packing up, and shrugged one shoulder. "Ummm... I'm not sure. I'm _awfully tired_ ," he said with a smirk that John couldn't see. "Long drive and all that," he said softly. "Not to mention the emotional upheaval I seem to be going through... absolutely exhausting."

John bit his lip. "Shame. I was rather hoping to induce your heat tonight and fuck you breathless until you couldn't tell up from down. Perhaps another time," he said levelly, finishing with his clothes and making his way into the bathroom with his toiletries.

Sherlock faltered slightly, shoving the rest of his clothes into the drawer and walking down the hall into the bathroom. "You are a despicable man," he said, leaning against the doorway and looking at John. "They just make me nervous is all. Inducers are so strong..." he murmured. They made him more desperate, but it would be enough, hopefully, to knock his cycles back on track.

"Don't trust me to keep you under control?" John teased, though he knew Sherlock was being serious. "I'm stronger than you are; I can give you what you need, Sherlock," he said evenly, walking over to him and sliding his hands around his neck, tugging him down for a long kiss that slowly grew in urgency. "I've got you," he promised, biting at Sherlock's bottom lip.

Sherlock let out a shaky breath, nodding a little, leaning into the kiss and nipping back gently when John did. "I... it's just, I've never liked them... heats, but at the same time... with you they're wonderful," he murmured, resting his forehead against John's.

He swallowed. "Do... do we have the after heat pills?" he asked quietly, a small part of himself hoping that John had forgotten them. That was one thing that hadn't changed. Sherlock eventually stopped apologising all the time, and acting as timid around John, but he still wanted another pup, but he didn't voice this. He would wait for John.

John pulled back, looking up at Sherlock. "I brought them, but I'm not going to ask you to take them this time, if you don't want to," he said with a broad smile, running his hands down Sherlock's chest and then up around his neck. "I think we're ready for another pup, don't you?" he murmured, slowly bringing his hands down again so the he could start unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock let out a breath, looking at John. He lifted his hands to rest over John's as they were unbuttoning his shirt. "Are you sure?" he asked softly. "You said... you wanted Katherine older," he said. "She'll only be four when it's born," he said, wondering if something else wouldn't come up, and that the last nine months had been simply a honeymoon phase of things, and that John would turn resentful eventually. He looked down, letting out a breath and forcing the thoughts from his head; he didn't need those ones.

"I didn't think I would stop being mad at you as fast as I did," John murmured, finishing with the buttons and then untucking Sherlock's shirt, running his splayed hands up his chest. "Yes, Sherlock, I'm sure. Try for a boy this time, will you?" he asked, teasing.

Sherlock looked down at John when he said that, holding John's face in his hands as he leant down and kissed him. "Thank you... thank you so much," he said quietly, pressing another insistent kiss to his lips. He let out a breath, wrapping his arms tightly around him. "I love you, I love you so much... more than I could ever say," he said.

John kissed Sherlock back with just as much passion and need as he was being kissed. "I love you, too. Don't ever think that I don't," he murmured.

"So... the… the inducer. Pill, liquid, or... injection?" Sherlock asked, not sure which John would have gotten from work. He knew which was fastest, that was sure.

John broke away, leading Sherlock back into the bedroom and over to the chest of drawers, where he had set out a box. "I have friends in high places. They managed to get me an injection." He helped Sherlock completely out of his jacket and shirt, kissing and sucking slowly on his neck while he did. "Do you trust me?" he asked quietly, uncapping the needle and flicking it to get the air bubbles out.

Sherlock hummed as he was pushed back gently, he sighed softly as John eased off his shirt. He stepped back and sat on the bed, looking at the needle. He blinked, flicking his gaze up to John. "I trust you, yes," he said quietly, swallowing thickly. "A-always," he murmured.

John nodded, stroking his fingers through Sherlock's hair before he focused his attention. He easily found a usable vein, seeing as it didn't have to be a large one, like for drawing blood, and stuck in the needle, quickly injecting the inducer before pulling it out and setting it back in the box on the chest of drawers.

Sherlock winced as the needle slid into his arm, letting out a breath as it was pulled out. He swallowed, not feeling anything yet. He knew it wasn't instant though.

"Now," John murmured, stalking back up to Sherlock, "let's get rid of these clothes."

Sherlock nodded, reaching over and gently tugging up John's jumper from the lining of his trousers, trying to tug it off of him.  

John grinned, helping Sherlock to take of his jumper. He let Sherlock toss it aside, much more focused on the Omega in front of him. Lifting Sherlock up by his thighs, he scooted him back onto the middle of the bed, pushing his shoulders down and crawling up after him. He kissed slowly down his chest, his hands working at the button and zip of his trousers, massaging his hardening cock through them.

Sherlock leant back on the bed, letting out a breath and looking up at the cedar ceiling as John kissed down his chest. He hummed as John's hand rubbed down his front, and he groaned a little, reaching down and pulling John up so he could kiss him again. He wrapped his arms around him, holding onto him and letting out a slow breath. He swallowed, feeling his heart start to speed up slightly as he started to feel a bit warm. He shivered, tightening his hold on John, breathing in his scent to calm himself, feeling the heat come on quick enough that it startled him; the last inducers had been more subtle, slipped into his tea.

"Easy," John murmured, nuzzling along Sherlock's neck and kissing the reddened skin. "I've got you, I promise," he said, moving his hands back down to Sherlock's trousers and peeling them off, exposing an obviously interested erection underneath just his pants now. He massaged his fingers up Sherlock's rapidly heating sides, the heat setting in at a nearly alarming rate, but he knew it was medically safe, or he wouldn't have been able to get it. "I've got you," he repeated, sucking at a spot on Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock gasped a little, the trousers brushing against his sensitive skin roughly, and he wriggled out of them. He curled up into John, trembling slightly, pressing himself close. The speed it was going, he only felt the fever just now, and was harder than he thought possible.

"It... doesn't feel right, it... it's weird," he panted, shifting on the bed slightly, his forehead already a bit damp. He swallowed a little, feeling the dampness between his legs, and he whined suddenly as the hollow ache went through him, filling him suddenly as he started to cramp. 

"Easy, baby," John murmured, clinging to Sherlock nearly as tightly as the Omega was clinging to him. He growled lowly in his chest as Sherlock's scent suddenly hit him, sending off signals that, even though they were mated, clearly called out that he was in heat, and probably would have attracted any Alpha. "Christ, let's never use these again," he said, disentangling himself from Sherlock's grip so that he could strip out of the rest of his clothes and pull Sherlock's pants off.

A noise akin to a wail came from Sherlock as John pulled away from him, leaving him alone on the bed, even for those few seconds that almost felt like hours. He curled up instantly, which made it a bit difficult for John to tug off his pants. Sherlock trembled, feeling John's hands on him, which felt almost cold to his skin, and he sat up, clinging onto John once he was back on the bed. "Please... p-please... John... I... _hurt,_ " he whined, his voice small and shaking as he flinched a little, cramping once more. His head was fuzzy, and he couldn't think save to cling onto his Alpha as if he might disappear.

"Jesus," John panted, bracing himself up with one hand and lining himself up with the other. He didn't waste any time, sinking slowly into Sherlock, who was slicker than he had ever been. "I've got you, love," John promised, which seemed to be all he could say. He moaned a little as he sunk in all the way, resting there for a moment before he pulled back and quickly snapped his hips, starting a brutal rhythm that was probably going to leave both of them bruised, but right now he didn't care.

Sherlock whimpered as he felt John push up into him, no preparation this time. He moaned though as John paused and he slowly started to get used to the pressure. He was just about to wriggle a small bit when John thrust forward again, and then again, drawing a loud cry from Sherlock, though each cry ended in a moan. He leant back into John, his hot back pressed to John's chest. "I... almost, I please.... god pleasepleaseplease," he begged, writhing on the bed and tightening some around John.

John growled, fisting his hand in Sherlock's hair and pushing his head down until his forehead was resting on the mattress. He thrust into him harder, his knot filling rapidly at Sherlock's desperate begging and the fluttering of his muscles around John's length. "Fuck," John swore, wrapping his hand around Sherlock's cock as he thrust into him entirely, burying his knot before it swelled up completely, Sherlock's feverish body clenching around him as he came.

Sherlock complied, not lifting his head again, completely within John's control, not able to control anything for himself. He yelped when John's hand wrapped around his length, feeling John's knot starting to swell. He shouted incoherently when John thrust his knot into him, and he shook as he came finally, his head going light as he fell onto the bed part way, trembling and limp, breathing erratic.

John panted, resting his forehead between Sherlock's shoulder blades for a moment and releasing his hair as he lowered them to their sides. "You're so wonderful," he murmured, kissing the bondmark at the back of Sherlock's neck, stroking his fingers down his stomach and then back up his chest as he continued to nuzzle against the mark.

Sherlock hummed, still trembling, completely manoeuvrable in John's arms. He nodded weakly, soaking up the praise that John gave him. "Hmm..." he swallowed, tipping his head back and leaning the back of it against John's shoulder, loving the kisses to his mark, feeling John confirming once more that he was his. 

"So, I think the inducer worked," John teased, nuzzling against Sherlock's still-hot skin and nipping at it in a few places. "I'm a bit curious, though, to see if it's going to give you more that two rounds," he murmured, running the tip of his nose up the back of Sherlock's neck and into his hair, where a lot of his scent had gathered without it being heat-induced.

Sherlock let out a breath, nodding weakly. "Mhm... mm worked," he mumbled, humming as John scented his hair. "Mmmaybe... more than two," he murmured quietly, trying to think, but his head was already wandering. "Mm John.... JohnJohnJohn..." he breathed, his eyes shutting as he trembled a bit again, voicing the only thing he could think right now, the scent around him, and that was the only thing bouncing in his head  _johnjohnjohnjohn._

John grinned, kissing the scar on Sherlock's shoulder as his knot receded and he slipped out of Sherlock. "Go to bed, love," he murmured, knowing that he would be up sooner because of the inducer. "You and I could both use the rest," he said, banding his arm across Sherlock's chest and holding tightly to him as his scent wrapped him up and he drifted off to sleep.

Sherlock hummed a little as John pulled out of him and he felt a bit empty once more. He nodded a fraction, soon falling unconscious, curled up with John curled around him.

He hadn't even really been asleep that long, perhaps an hour and a half before he started to feel it again, the ache. He blinked his eyes open, realising he was sweating more again, and he shifted uncomfortably. He whined a little, rolling over and nipping gently at John's chest and neck to wake him up.

John groaned at being awoken, instinctively reaching up to push Sherlock off of him, but when his hands met hot skin, he stopped, his eyes popping open. "Oh," he whispered, instantly wide awake. "That was bloody fast," he said, leaning up to capture Sherlock's lips with his own, snaking his tongue between his parted lips.

Sherlock hummed, whimpering a little as he kissed John desperately. "I kn-know... but, I need... I need it... you," he said quietly, nipping at John's neck a little. "Anything... please, just please."

John hummed, pulling Sherlock up until he was lying on him, straddling his hips. "You're such a good boy," John whispered, stroking his hands down Sherlock's side, cupping his arse and squeezing. "You're  _my_  good boy, aren't you?" he asked, his voice close to a growl as he braced his feet on the bed and drove up into Sherlock, keeping his thrusts long and slow to start.

Sherlock settled on top of John, nuzzling the thin, light hairs on his chest as he nodded, soaking up the praise once more. "Mhm," he hummed, moaning a little as John pushed up into him. He whined again, pushing himself up to align himself better, sinking down some as John pushed up, his eyes closing as the motions continued, his mouth open slightly.

John moaned, grabbing Sherlock's hips and holding him still as he thrust up into him harder, slamming against him. "Fuck, Sherlock," he groaned, tipping his head back against the bed, one of his hands moving up to press his palm against Sherlock's chest, his other hand still gripping Sherlock's hip tightly.

Sherlock whimpered a little as John pushed into him, slamming up again and again. He rocked his hips despite John holding him, needing it more, close... again close. "J-John... please,  _fuck_ ,"he panted, his legs going weak, not able to lift himself up more. 

John growled, wrapping both of his arms around Sherlock and pulling him close, bracing his feet farther apart on the bed and slamming up with more force. His knot was growing rapidly again, and it wasn't long before he slammed into Sherlock, sinking all the way inside before coming forcefully, crying out Sherlock's name as he held his Omega against him.

Sherlock leant over as John pulled him down more, and he rested his forehead against John's chest, clenching as his whole body tensed for a moment as John came, followed quickly by himself. The wave lasted longer than normal, and when it passed, Sherlock fell limp onto John's chest, not able to move, not even to tremble as he normally did. His chest was heaving, and he gulped breaths of John's scent, eyes rolled back in his head some, fluttering shut.

John panted, combing his fingers through Sherlock's damp curls, running his hand down his back. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly, rubbing the heel of his hand over Sherlock's shoulders. He tilted Sherlock's chin up, pulling one of his eyelids open and looking at him with worry. "Talk to me, love. I've never done this with inducers before; I don't know what to expect."

Sherlock barely even heard John's voice, which sounded far away. His brows pinched together a little as his eye pulled shut again, and he nuzzled weakly against John's chest before growing still again, his breathing slowing to a more normal pace. He fell asleep so quickly that it was almost just flat out falling unconscious, still lying on top of John.

John let out a long, tired breath, dropping his head back roughly on the pillow. He was worried, now, but there wasn't much that they could do except ride it out. He certainly wasn't going to  _not_  give Sherlock what he needed, because that would be worse, and torturous for both of them. He sighed, rubbing his fingers down Sherlock's back and electing not to fall asleep this time, lest Sherlock wake up prematurely and need him again.

Sherlock woke up almost a couple hours later, still laying on top of John, though at some point he had pulled out of him. He swallowed thickly, eyes pulling open. He was warm, too warm. He shifted a little, rolling off of John, his body heat too much. "S'hot," he murmured blearily.

John rolled onto his side, facing Sherlock and reaching up to feel his temperature. "Bad hot or heat hot?" he asked, pushing Sherlock's hair back from his forehead and blowing cool air across his feverish skin. "I wish I knew how long this was supposed to last," he muttered to himself.

Sherlock closed his eyes as John's hand pressed to his forehead, feeling cool in comparison to his skin. He hummed a little as the cooler air landed on his face. "S'both hot," he said, trying to drag his eyes open, peering at John through the slits in his eyelids. He swallowed thickly again, his mouth dry. He didn't feel the want yet, on a longer break than before, but the flu-like symptoms didn't pass, and he felt wrong somehow, as if everything had built up from his irregular heats and were just flooding out at once, the inducers dumping everything out of him, and his body didn't like it. He shivered despite feeling warm and a small whine came out of him. "S' _hot_ ," he whined.

John's stomach twisted with worry. He  _hated_  seeing Sherlock in pain, any kind of it. "I'll be right back," he whispered, sliding out of bed and quickly walking into the bathroom, wetting a linen with cold water and then returning to Sherlock, running the cloth over his skin and blowing on the water to attempt to cool him down a bit, even though he knew it would only be a temporary relief. He finally settled the cloth on Sherlock's forehead, taking his pulse at his wrist. It was elevated, but not alarmingly. "You'll be okay," he promised.

Sherlock whimpered a little, sighing softly when the cool cloth pressed to his forehead. He shivered, swallowing thickly. "Mmok-k-kay," he said, curling up into a tight ball, still shivering a little. "D-don't feel r-right," he said quietly, his fingers weaving up into his hair. He cleared his throat a little, pulling his eyes open again and looking at John.

John made a small noise, crawling up into bed beside Sherlock and resting his hand on the Omega's chest, both to comfort him and so that he could feel his heartbeat. "It's okay," he repeated. "It'll pass, and then you'll feel so much better. We're going to have another pup, remember? Try to think about that. What's he going to be like?" He was trying to distract Sherlock from his obvious discomfort, to make him focus on anything else.

Sherlock hummed a little, closing his eyes part way. He whined, hating how he tried to pull away from John, not wanting to be away from him, but it was too warm to be held, but he  _wanted_  to be held. It wasn't fair. "John... s'hot..." he complained, squeezing his hand, his breathing and heart speeding up a little as he moved, squirming.

John made a pained sound, pulling back but still holding Sherlock's hand. "I know, baby, I'm sorry," he murmured, wishing he could make it better. "What should I do? Is there anything...?" he asked, reaching up with his free hand to comb through Sherlock's hair. He let go of Sherlock's hand, trailing his fingers down the Omega's stomach and ghosting them over his hard length. "Would this help, or no?"

Sherlock hummed, then shook his head slowly, swallowing thickly. "Want you to hold me... but s'hot," he murmured. His eyes fluttered open again, and he let out a breath. "C-cool bath?" he asked softly. "Can... can we...?" he asked drowsily. "It's... so'hot John..." he said.

John really didn't like the idea of submersing Sherlock in cold or even cool water when his temperature was this high. "No, love, I'm sorry," he murmured, combing through Sherlock's hair again and blowing on his skin. "I think this just needs to sort itself out until the fever breaks."

Sherlock whined, why was John being so unreasonable? That wasn't fair. "John... s'hot, want be held," he said, frowning a bit as he shifted on the bed again. He rolled over, trying to climb out of the bed - he'd get in that bath himself and cool off, and then drag himself back and  _make_ John hold him. 

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist, stopping his movements easily and pulling him back against his chest. "You're not taking that bath, Sherlock," he growled, nipping and kissing the mark at the back of his neck. "I am not risking you getting horribly ill from it."

Sherlock was pulled away from the edge of the bed, John's arm tight around his waist. "Nooo..." he whined, almost sounding like Katherine, not able to help it, not in his right mind. "John... _please_ ," he begged in a small voice, trying to pull away. "S'hot... s'too hot." He tried to pull John's arm off him, starting to get a little more insistent. 

 _Jesus Christ_. Sherlock felt like a flame, like his skin was a literal flame being held against John, but he didn't care. He just held on tighter. "I don't care. A cold bath is just going to make it worse," he said, though in all honesty, he didn't really know. Basic medical knowledge was just telling him to keep Sherlock away from cold water.

That wasn't fair! Sherlock whined, frustrated, and suddenly angry, weakly kicking out at John. "Supposed to help!" he complained loudly. "Supposed to... to make it go away!" he said, trying to wriggle out of John's arms. "Thirsty," he tried, which he was, his mouth dry. He swallowed thickly, still working tiredly at pulling away.

"Sherlock, I am trying to help," John said, grunting a little when Sherlock kicked his knee. He sighed when Sherlock mentioned being thirsty, because he knew Sherlock had won, then. John wouldn't hold him if he was parched. He let go, folding his arms over his own chest and watching Sherlock. "Fine, go get a drink," he said quietly.

Sherlock let out a breath when he rolled away from John. He caught his breath, his head resting on the bed as he looked at John for a moment, cheeks still flushed red. He swallowed, "Th...thank you," he said, pushing himself up slowly, swaying a little as he looked around the room. He licked his lips, not wanting to leave the room, not without John. Though part of him was still angry, feeling almost betrayed by John not helping him cool off.

He let out a breath, slowly standing up and grabbing a dressing gown out of habit, though he didn't put it on, dragging it behind him as he walked unsteadily out of the room, feeling smaller and smaller the farther away from the room he got. He still felt in a haze, pouring a glass of cold water and guzzling it down. He got another, leaning against the counter in the nice kitchen, though he couldn't really appreciate it, not able to think about anything.

He swayed a little, looking out the back door at the snow outside. He hummed, walking over to the door, seeing the woods around, his hand going against the glass, which felt... so good. "John..." he breathed softly, a small voice telling him not to, but it was just the heat driving him, and he felt too warm. He pulled the door open, sighing at the icy blast of air as he stood in the doorway, taking a couple steps outside, eyes half open.

John curled up tightly into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest as he tried to think about what he could do to help his mate, who was obviously suffering. He heard the sink turn on once, and then again, and he let out a soft breath when it wasn't followed by the tub turning on. That slight bit of relief turned into sudden alarm, though, when he heard the click of a door. He grabbed his dressing gown and pulled it on, jogging out of the room and towards where icy air was filtering in through the open back door. Sherlock was lying down in the snow.

"Sherlock!" he yelled, running outside and hauling the Omega to his feet and dragging him back inside and into the bedroom. "Sit," he instructed, not in the least kindly as he pulled the duvet and the quilt from the bed and wrapped them around Sherlock before he walked over to the fireplace and quickly got a fire going. "You're an idiot; what the fuck were you thinking?" he demanded, taking Sherlock's pulse and watching the dilation of his pupils.

It had felt perfect, great... and finally he wasn't too warm. The snow stung on his skin at first, but melted away into feeling nothing and he shut his eyes. He had jumped when he heard someone shout at him, coming to again as he was jerked to his feet and dragged back into the house where he collapsed onto the bed.

He realised slowly that he was shaking, and that John was yelling at him. He flinched a little, curling up and trying to muster up a response for John. He blinked slowly, shivering as he tried to weakly pull his hand away from John.

"Look at me," John demanded, grabbing Sherlock's chin and forcing their eyes to meet. He watched his pupil dilation and counted his pulse at the same time. "You're lucky as hell that you're body temperature is ridiculously high," he said, still worked up and angry from being so worried. He tugged Sherlock onto the floor, forcing him to sit down in front of the fireplace, which was roaring by this point.

Sherlock winced a little as his eyes met John's, taking a moment to focus from his heat-induced haze. "Hmm?" he asked, blinking slowly. He stumbled as he was put onto the floor, the fire throwing off heat. Sherlock shook his head, trying to scoot away from it, still shivering, but it felt too warm. 

"Sit still," John growled, moving to sit behind Sherlock. He took off his dressing gown and readjusted the blankets on Sherlock so that his back was bare, and then pressed himself up against him, sharing body heat. He hissed at the cold against his skin, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist to hold him still. "It was your stupid idea to go outside, so now you have to deal with this," he said, starting to shiver from second-hand exposure.

Sherlock froze for a second at the tone of John's voice, whining a bit as John's burning hot skin pressed against his back. He squirmed a little, soon falling still again, shivering even more violently. As soon as he warmed up enough to not feel nothing anymore he realised how cold he felt. He whined again, curling up against John, shaking. He nuzzled against John's neck a little, letting out a breath as he slowly warmed, shivering slightly as his eyes fluttered shut. "Mms-s-sorry," he murmured quietly, clearing his throat.

John held Sherlock tighter, rubbing his hands along his arms to help circulate his blood flow. "You better be a hell of a lot more than sorry," he said, but some of the anger was already leaving his tone. He was just focusing on getting Sherlock warmed up, back to a decent body temperature.

Sherlock sighed, feeling John's hands on his arms. He hummed softly, his shivering lessening after a while. He swallowed thickly, leaning more against John as he fell unconscious, breathing steadily, head leaning back over John's arm.

John let out a short breath, situating Sherlock on his side in front of the fireplace. He grabbed the pillows from the bed and brought them down, tucking one under Sherlock's head and curling up behind him. He brushed the heel of his hand quickly over his cheeks, wiping off a couple of stress tears that had fallen. "You're going to give me ulcers again," he muttered to deaf ears as he stared at the flames over Sherlock's shoulder.

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

Sherlock slept for a few hours, humming softly as he came to. He shifted, sniffling a small bit as he rolled over, closer to John as he wrapped an arm over him. He let out a breath, blinking his eyes open and looking at John. He swallowed, looking around. "Mmm... John?" he asked softly to get his attention. "Why... why are we on the floor?" he asked quietly, his cheeks still a bit pink, but he didn't feel nearly as warm as before.

"Because you were an idiot and decided that taking a swim in the snow would be a good idea," John replied, slowly blinking his eyes away from the lowering fire to catch Sherlock's eyes. He sighed heavily, combing through his hair. "How are you feeling?"

Sherlock's brows furrowed. "What? I... but I... we were… knotted and good and... I felt warm. Fell asleep didn't I?" he asked, confused. He sighed softly, nuzzling close to John and scenting his neck, smelling the agitation there. "I don't remember that..." he murmured. "I'm sorry. How warm was I?" he asked.

"You don't remember? Sherlock, you were burning," John said, concern evident in his voice. He rested his palm against Sherlock's forehead to take his temperature again, and he was much cooler than earlier. "You scared the hell out of me," he whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around Sherlock's waist and holding him close.

Sherlock shook his head lightly. "No... I remember a dream but... only that it was a dream, nothing else," he said, nuzzling against John's chest and tilting his head up to nip at John's jaw gently. He still felt the heat, it hadn't gone away yet, and he knew he was in for more; hopefully the worst was behind though. "I am sorry... for scaring you," he murmured, sighing softly. "What was that you said at the flat before though... feels like ages ago." Though of course... it had been. "Something about… every surface?" he murmured, kissing John's chest. He estimated roughly twenty minutes to the next wave, already feeling a slight cramp.

John groaned, Sherlock's scent strengthening and wrapping around him like an embrace. He stood up, pulling Sherlock with him and backing him up against the wall, his hand pressed firmly against his chest. "It's not fair," he growled, biting Sherlock's neck and reaching around to grab his arse. "I was planning on being mad at you for the rest of the day," he murmured, nipping at Sherlock's jaw.

Sherlock got up, still a little shaky and allowed John to pin him against the wall. He hummed a little, letting out a breath. "Wasn't me though... inducers got to my head I guess." he said, nipping a bit at John's earlobe, which was the only thing he could reach with his mouth. He hummed again. "You can punish me later...when I'm not..." he trailed off, John knew what he meant. Any anger or punishment from an Alpha, false or in play, didn't matter, it felt real to an Omega in heat, and was frightening, even though they only seem to want one thing... it's not something easily forgotten.

"I know, love," John murmured, reaching up and combing through Sherlock's hair, tugging a little at the ends. He slotted their lips together, twisting his tongue with Sherlock's and moaning a little against his mouth.

Sherlock hummed at the gentle tug, leaning into the kiss and twining his arms around John, ducking down to scent his neck. He sighed, leaning against him for a moment, perfectly content. "Where?" he asked, his heart starting to speed up more. Wouldn't be long now...

"Here," John breathed, laving his tongue over Sherlock's sweaty skin, feeling his pulse jump in his neck. "I'm going to have you right here." His voice was lower now and he hitched Sherlock's legs up, wrapping them around his hips as he continued to ravage his neck with his tongue and teeth.

Sherlock whined, wrapping his legs tightly around John, and sucked and nibbled on his ear again. "Yes... y-yes sir," he breathed, weaving his hands into John's hair. "Mmlove you..." he murmured, starting to feel a bit damp again, he pulled back a little to look at John's eyes, his own glazing over slightly before he leant in, kissing him hungrily with a moan.

John groaned, kissing Sherlock back fiercely, sucking hard on his tongue. He ground against Sherlock's hips, circling Sherlock's entrance with his finger. "God, you're already so wet for me," he purred, nipping at Sherlock's lips until they were red and swollen.

Sherlock moaned, the back of his head bumping back against the wall. "Mmm... yes... please," he murmured, lifting his hips, grinding up against John as much as he could. "John...god..." he panted, needing him already. "Now...please..." he said.

"So demanding," John murmured, biting down on Sherlock's shoulder before he quickly lined up and thrust into him. He growled, wasting no time in setting up a fast, snapping rhythm. He was already exhausted, not used to going three rounds, but it would be worth it. "God, Sherlock, fuck," he groaned, holding on tightly to the back of his thigh.

Sherlock moaned as John thrust up into him, the angle not one he was used to, and John hit his prostate each time. He cried out, gripping tightly onto John's shoulders to keep himself up. "J-JoHN!" he gasped, his head going back again and smacking against the wall, he saw spots, but didn't care, trying to grind up against John once more.

"Fuck," John whispered, pressing his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder, panting already but quickening the brutal pace. "God, I love you," he moaned, leaning up to kiss Sherlock, sucking and nipping on his bottom lip. He slammed hard into him, holding himself still for a moment before repeating the motion, swallowing up Sherlock's cries.

Sherlock moaned, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to his shoulder and neck, whatever he could reach, moaning and mumbling against his skin. "Mmalmost.... mmalmost…" he murmured, groaning. He was too on edge, and as soon as he felt John's knot start to swell he clenched, coming first before John with a small yelp.

John swore loudly, slamming up into Sherlock as his knot swelled and he released inside of him. His legs shook, his hand holding tightly to the back of Sherlock's thigh, his other fisted tightly in his hair. "Give me a moment," he whispered, leaning heavily against Sherlock, unable to move at the moment.

Sherlock whined, trembling. He wrapped both his arms around John's neck, trying to hold himself up. He was panting heavily. "T-take... take time... s'fine." he panted, letting out a slow breath, his eyes closing partially. "I...Hmmm....mm." he hummed, not able to string words together coherently.

John nuzzled against Sherlock's neck, his muscles straining to hold both of them up. Finally he gave up, lowering them both to the floor and settling Sherlock onto his lap. "Sorry," he murmured. "I just couldn't hold us up anymore."

Sherlock kept his legs wrapped around John's waist, resting his head on John's shoulder and shaking his head. "S'fine... mmfine..." he breathed, trembling a bit still. "S...suppose...if I take it...I should take it...soon." he murmured quietly, talking about the after heat pill. They hadn't decided had they? Sherlock was a little nervous about it, because John had said he wanted to wait, but that was because he was angry with Sherlock, wasn't it? He sighed, still resting as he held John, still pinned there by John's knot, which filled him pleasantly. 

"Sherlock?" John leant back a little, cupping Sherlock's face in his hands and stroking his cheeks gently with his thumbs. "I thought we agreed that you weren't taking it this time?" he asked, unsure if Sherlock had forgotten or potentially changed his mind. "I want another pup, love. I don't think we should wait any longer."

Sherlock leant into one of John's hands, letting out a slow breath. He hummed, meeting John's eyes. "Wasn't sure." he said quietly. He swallowed, reaching up and resting his hand on one of John's. "Should...should we ask Katherine?" he asked quietly, "I don't...is it done like that?" he murmured, eyes trying to close a bit. He pulled them open, letting out a breath. "Been three rounds...can we...wash up after this?" he asked. 

"No, I think it's best if we just surprise her with it," John replied, feeling his knot recede, but he didn't slip out of Sherlock because of the position they were in. "Yeah, we can go shower," he murmured, easing Sherlock off his lap and then slowly standing, holding his hand for Sherlock to take.

Sherlock winced a little as John eased him off his lap. He looked up at his hand, reaching up and pulling himself up, standing up unsteadily. "Erm...maybe a bath. Don't really...want to stand somewhere wet." he murmured.

John gave a relieved sound when Sherlock mentioned a bath - he didn't want to be standing either. "No offense, but I really hope that was the last one," he said, steadying Sherlock as they made their way into the bathroom. He quickly turned on the water to warm and filled the tub, helping Sherlock inside before sliding in behind him.

Sherlock hummed, allowing John to lead him into the bathroom. He watched the large tub fill up, seeing the jets along the sides of it. He sank into it with a sigh, relaxing back to lean against John's chest. "Mmthink...might have been." he murmured, his stomach growling quietly but he ignored it, not really feeling hungry, though he realised it was the second day of his heat. "Could just be a long break...but...mmm." he hummed, the warm water relaxing him.

John let out a long breath, leaning back against the tub and relaxing down into the water. He rested his hands loosely at Sherlock's sides, too tired and boneless to properly hold onto him. "Sleep," he muttered. "I'm sleeping when we get out of here. I wish I could cook for you like I usually do, but I can't this time." His eyelids were heavy, and his muscles would have been cramping if he hadn't been lying in hot water.

Sherlock reached down under the water and took John's wrists, lifting them weakly and resting them around Sherlock's stomach, resting them there. He hummed again. "Water...will get cold." he mumbled, his head already rolling to the side a bit as he started to drift off, despite trying to say that wasn't a good idea.

John shook himself, waking himself up momentarily. "Stay awake with me then," he commanded, reaching for the soap and quickly washing Sherlock off, then himself. He rinsed them both off, then moved Sherlock so that he could unplug the drain. With a small grunt, he pulled himself out of the water, drying off quickly before taking Sherlock's hand and pulling Sherlock out so that he could dry him off as well.

Sherlock whined when John shook slightly, lifting his head weakly when he started scrubbing him down. "Mmtrying." he mumbled, shivering when the water started to drain. Before he knew it he was being tugged out of the tub, and sat on the edge of it as John ran a towel down him. He winced as he moved, sore from it all. 

John tossed the towel aside, slinging Sherlock's arm over his shoulder and all but dragging him off to the bed. He quickly stripped the sheets and pulled on new ones, then tucked Sherlock in. He crawled in beside his Omega, spooning up behind him. As soon as his head hit the pillow, John was unconscious, uncovered and not caring.

Sherlock didn't even remember making it back to the bed, the first thing he was aware of was John's arm wrapped around him, and that he felt cold. He sniffed a little, pulling his eyes open. He swallowed, rolling over carefully, feeling a bit stiff and sore. He settled, curling close to John. He coughed, humming softly. He still felt warm, but not as if from a heat, but a normal warmth from a fever maybe. He sighed, probably from his stint in the snow that he didn't even remember. 

John didn't stir, his breaths coming slow and shallow, his eyelids never fluttering. He hadn't moved since he had fallen asleep, and he was dead to the world.

Sherlock looked at John, watching him carefully. He stayed there for a while, carefully climbing out of bed and wrapping a dressing gown around him. He walked carefully down the hall and into the kitchen, grabbing some fruit from the fridge, supposing that John had stocked the place prior to them going. He called Mindy, talking to Katherine as it was still early evening. He coughed a few more times, taking a bit of medicine to try and push away the cold before it sank in. He finally crawled back into bed, draping a blanket over the two of them as he settled again, nose slightly stuffed, falling asleep quickly.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

It was several hours later, nearing noon of the next day, when John finally woke up, rubbing his eyes and snuggling closer to Sherlock, who was pleasantly warm. He realised that he was covered up now, and figured that Sherlock must have done that at some point during the night.

John made a small noise as he nuzzled closer to Sherlock, still heavy from sleep and not really wanting to move, but he wanted to be closer never the less. "Love you," he whispered, even though Sherlock was asleep. He knew he should probably get up and eat something, but he could do that later, when Sherlock was up as well.

 Sherlock shifted, blinking his eyes open at the movement, only sleeping lightly, breathing through his mouth as his nose was stuffed. "Mmlove you too." he murmured in response. He looked at John, swallowing thickly. "Mmwhat did I say...to make you let me go outside?" he asked, turning his head away quickly to sneeze.

John furrowed his brow, blinking quickly when he realised that Sherlock had a cold. His anger rose up again as he remembered seeing Sherlock lying in the snow, but he tramped it down. It was too damn early to be yelling. "You said that you were thirsty," he said, rolling out of bed and padding into the kitchen, where he started the coffee pot.

Sherlock hummed lightly, watching John get out of bed. He was riding on the coattails of his heat, and it pained him to see John leave, quickly climbing out of bed and walking stiffly out of the door and into the kitchen after John, his gait a bit off, feeling bruised and sore. "Sounds like something I would say." he murmured, "I am sorry...still don't remember." he said quietly.

"I know you don't," John said, turning around once he knew the coffee was brewing, "and that bothers me for two reasons. One, because I can't very well be pissed at you for something you don't remember doing, though I very much  _want_  to be pissed at you. And two, because you don't bloody remember it. You remember everything, and it seriously worries me that you don't remember doing something so drastic."

Sherlock sighed, furrowing his brows. He supposed that worried him as well. "Well like I said, you can punish me later...maybe when I'm not so fucking sore already." he said, swallowing. "Must have been something in the inducer...I don't know what else it could be." he said with a shrug.

John let out a long breath, scrubbing his hands down his face. He didn't say anything, just turned around to pour himself a mug of coffee. With another sigh, he walked the few steps into the jointed living room, curling up in the armchair and holding the steaming mug close to his chest.

Sherlock blinked a few times, walking out into the living room and looking at John. "H-have I done something wrong?" he asked softly, not liking the cold shoulder feeling he was getting from John. He wanted to be close to him still, but he perched on the armchair near John, pulling his dressing gown tighter around himself. "Other than what I can't remember, and apparently couldn't control?"

John set his coffee mug aside, pulling Sherlock onto his lap, since it was obvious to him that that was what the Omega wanted, and he knew that he was supposed to be taking care of Sherlock, who still wasn't technically over his heat yet. "I don't know," John sighed, wrapping his arms loosely around Sherlock's waist. "No. Maybe. Maybe I'm mad at myself. I don't know, Sherlock," he murmured, dropping his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock sighed, curling close to John and nuzzling against his neck. "Well, I'm sorry none the less." he murmured quietly, kissing John's jaw.

He sighed, smiling softly. "This far out...we'll be able to see the city's fireworks nicely on New Years in a few days." he said quietly. "Tomorrow maybe we can go and...walk outside in the snow." he said, trying to take John's mind off everything.

"You have a cold," John pointed out with a sigh. "I'm not taking you outside until you're better. Especially if..." he leant back, looking at Sherlock intently. "You didn't take the pills, did you?" he asked, hoping that he hadn't, hoping that they would know within a week or two.

Sherlock shook his head. "No...took a bit of syrup to try and prevent my cold." he mumbled, "Don't think it's working, and I'll be fine...just need a coat and scarf...some gloves." He murmured, nuzzling close to John. "I want to give you a boy." he said quietly, "I really do. I want him to look like you..."

John smiled a little at that, relaxing and combing his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "Well, it would only be fair, seeing as Katty takes after you so much," he teased, kissing Sherlock's cheek. "I've got some better cold medicine with me in my bag. They're pills and they're stronger. Probably work better."

Sherlock hummed, smiling softly. "Takes after you too." he mumbled softly. He nodded a bit, not moving though, he could wait for the pills. "They won't hurt it will they? I don't want anything to ruin it." he said, touching his stomach, worried almost. He wondered if it would happen, having another pup, another chance at being there, properly there. He thought then about the pup he'd lost, Katherine's twin...he curled up more on John's lap, not wanting to think about that.

"No, they're safe." John held Sherlock tighter when the Omega curled up more on his lap, and he knew instantly what he was thinking about. "Shh, love, don't worry about that. It wasn't your fault, and it's not going to happen again, alright?" He combed gently through Sherlock's hair. "I promise. Nothing will happen to you."

Sherlock let out a nervous breath, his hand resting on his stomach, hoping already, wanting something to be in there. He swallowed, nodding gently, his head resting on John's shoulder. "It could...it could happen again though, only what if this time we don't have another one?" he asked in a small voice.

"Sherlock," John said firmly, cupping Sherlock's face between his hands. He leant forward and kissed him softly, sucking on his bottom lip just a little. "Worrying about it makes it worse, alright? They can sense you, remember?"

Sherlock sighed gently, then nodded. "I know...I'm not...I..I'll try not to." he murmured quietly. He looked at him, resting his forehead against John's. "I want to know...I already want to know if something's there...I hate waiting." he said quietly.

John laughed lightly, leaning forward to connect their lips again. "I know, so do I," he agreed. "But it'll come. We'll probably know before we head home. It can be our big surprise to Katherine and my mum when we show up," he said with a smile, running his fingers over Sherlock's back.

"If we know...I don't have a test on me." he murmured. "Your mother would know just looking at me, probably would know before us." he said, sighing softly. "We just...should forget about it for now, not even worry about it and if it happens...we'll know." he said with a small nod, sneezing a bit again and settling more against John.

 _I've got one_ , John thought, but he didn't say it. He had been hoping that he would be able to convince Sherlock to not take the pills, that they would be able to go through a heat without them and have another go at a pup, and so he had brought a test along just in case. But he didn't want to mention it, because Sherlock wanted to let it go. "Alright," he said softly, holding Sherlock closer and rubbing his back. 

Sherlock smiled, nuzzling against John. "Good...so, fireworks? I know I should feel better by then." he said quietly. "So what do you want to do with our time?" he asked quietly. He swallowed, humming softly.

"Fireworks sound nice," John agreed. "I think there's a clearing through the woods that gives a good overview of the city." He nuzzled against Sherlock's neck, breathing in his scent. "Until then, how about I just hold you, and then you can take that medicine, and then we can just go from there."

Sherlock nodded lightly, "Won't hear any argument from me." he murmured with a small smile, humming softly. He shivered a little, sniffling some as he nuzzled against John's chest. "I hope I'm not the only one sore." he murmured, "Because...shite..." 

John laughed, tipping his head back and grinning broadly. "No, trust me. I feel like I got hit by a truck, and then ran over by it a couple times. But I went through the army, so I'm better at hiding it," he teased, poking Sherlock's rib cage and leaning forward again to nuzzle into his hair. 

Sherlock laughed softly, leaning away from the poke in his side. He smiled, looking around the living room. "I really do love it here...you'll have to show me the rest of it." he said, "Where will Katherine sleep if we ever bring her?" he asked.

"Here," John murmured, gently easing Sherlock off of his lap as he stood from the chair. He took Sherlock's hand, linking their fingers together as he led him from the room, back towards the front door. Just before reaching it, there was a hallway that branched off on their left, and he took Sherlock down it, through the door at the end of the hall. The room inside was small, only about half the size of their room, but it was for Kat, who was only three. And she had her own bathroom, which she would probably think of as a huge bonus.

Sherlock looked at the bedroom, stepping inside of it. He saw the small twin bed tucked in the corner and smiled, looking around and poking his head into it. He turned around, looking at the corner of the room that was empty. "I can just picture what can go there." he said, wrapping his arms around John's neck and kissing him softly.

John smiled, circling his arms around Sherlock's waist and holding him close. "I can't wait," he whispered, kissing him back and swaying them a little. "Have you ever danced, Sherlock?" he asked suddenly, leading him back down the hall and through the kitchen, into their own bedroom where he started rummaging in his bag for the medicine. 

Sherlock rocked slowly with John, thrown off by the question and following John down to the other side of the cabin. "I...not really. No." he said, shaking his head. He perched himself down onto the bed, watching John rummage through his bag. "I've never learned, never had reason, or opportunity to." he said, tightening the rope around his waist on his dressing gown.

John smiled to himself, straightening up when he had the medicine in his hands. He walked into the bathroom, getting a glass of water and then returning to Sherlock, handing him the glass and then two of the light pink pills. "Well, that's going to be something I have to teach you while we're here, isn't it?" he asked. "Can't have you stumbling when we dance at our wedding." He winked, perching himself on the bed beside Sherlock.

Sherlock took the pills and glass from John and swallowed them down, glancing over at John. "What if I do get pregnant John?" he asked. "I won't fit into my suits, let alone a tux. I'm not getting married in stretchy elastic trousers." he said. "And...who said we'd be dancing?" he asked, looking down at his feet. He couldn't dance.

"We'll get married after. It's only nine months, love. I'm sure we can wait." John smiled, leaning over against Sherlock, resting his head on his shoulder and hooking their arms together. "And don't give me those sad puppy eyes that are saying that you can't dance, because that's ridiculous. You are  _the_  most graceful person that I know. If I can make it through a dance, then so can you."

"I've already waited nine months though." he said with a sigh, he met John's gaze, continuing with whatever look it was John accused him of. "I  _can't_  dance though." he said softly. "I think it's overrated anyway. It's just...moving." he said, his hears warm.

John shook his head, standing up and walking over to the corner of the room to turn on the radio, twisting it to a classical station. "It's not just moving," John insisted, stepping up to Sherlock and pulling him gently off of the bed, cradling him against his chest. "It's expression. Like you with your violin."

Sherlock blinked, holding himself close to John as he listened to the music. He pinched his fingers a little, playing along with the notes. "That's different." he insisted. "That's just me, making the music, it does what I want it to, not the other way around." he said, his feet not moving.

John started swaying, moving his body in time with the steadily rising and falling tempo. "There's literally no difference," he said softly, turning his body and taking a step, nudging Sherlock's foot with his own to get him to move it. "And dancing with a partner is far easier than alone."

Sherlock sighed, shuffling his feet a little bit. "No, because I can't control the music, it dictates where I go, how I move." he said, stepping on one of John's feet.

John sighed, unable to argue against that. He kept them rocking in a slow circle, correcting Sherlock's body motions when he was out of place, never saying anything when his feet got stepped on. "But it's easy," he murmured, smiling when Sherlock did a round without making mistakes.

Sherlock stared constantly at his feet, stumbling and pausing to sneeze occasionally. He rested his head on John's shoulder, and stopped paying attention to his steps, just listening to the music, and John's breathing. "No it's not." he said quietly, closing his eyes, hardly noticing the motions, still pressing the notes into John's back as if playing him like a violin.

John noticed instantly when Sherlock stopped watching his feet, and he started doing some different motions, making their feet moving a little faster, a little more in time to the music. Sherlock's fingers continued to play their tune on his back, but John didn't mind, finding comfort in it instead. "You seem to be getting the hang of it to me," he noted, spinning Sherlock away and quickly pulling him back.

Sherlock was startled when John spun him out quickly, pulling him back in and he got dizzy for a moment. "I...I just quit." he explained, he hadn't been paying attention. He looked down at his feet once more, and immediately stepped on his foot. "Oh, god..sorry." he said, stepping back.

John smiled softly. "Don't look at your feet," he instructed, setting his hand at Sherlock's waist and grabbing Sherlock's hand with his other. "Watch me, and focus on the music. What is it telling you to do?" He took a step into another move, and Sherlock followed--a little clumsily, but still.

"It's telling me that I want to play it rather than follow it." he said, meeting John's gaze instead of looking down. He sighed keeping his eyes on John's. After a moment he found it easy to take up on John's movements, anticipating them. "We have to do this in front of people...don't we?" he asked quietly. "You realise if we wait until after the baby, if I even get pregnant...that it would be hard to plan and pull off a wedding with an infant  _and_  a four year old." he said.

"And  _you_  realise that that's what Mrs. H, Harry, and Mum are for, right?" John teased. "I'm sure Harry's going to want in on decorations. Mum's going to be planning everything, probably in coordination with Mycroft. All we're going to have to do is watch the kids and try on our tuxes, and then when the ceremony starts, I'm sure Mum will watch the munchkins, too."

Sherlock let out a breath, "Mycroft planning, that'll be a sight to see." he murmured. "Well, planning a wedding anyway." he murmured, resting his head on John's shoulder again and continuing to sway with him. "Well...we'll have a flower girl at least." he murmured, kissing John's neck gently.

John smiled, slowing their pace and just swaying slowly with Sherlock. "I don't know of anyone who has a boy around that age, or, hell, even a girl, so we probably won't have a ring bearer," he said, which didn't bother him. Usually the rings that the kids carried on the pillows weren't real anyway, and the best man and maid of honour held onto the rings until they were needed. "We can figure it all out later. Months away."

Sherlock sighed, nodding again. Months away...unless they didn't have a pup. What if he couldn't after those two years, after Victor? "Doesn't matter...we have time, like you said." he murmured. "We're not having it in a church." he murmured. "I hope that's okay with you, but I'm not on the best of terms with God." he said.

John laughed, spinning Sherlock away again, pulling him back more slowly this time. "That's fine. I may be religious by definition, but I'm not exactly on good terms with him either," he said, setting both of his hands on Sherlock's hips as the music slowed down again. "We can have it out here," he suggested.

Sherlock swayed gently with John, holding him tightly. "Mmlove you...here sounds perfect." he murmured softly, smiling against John’s chest.

"I love you too," John whispered, winding down their movements until they finally stopped. He walked over to the radio and switched it off, returning to Sherlock and wrapping his arms around his waist.

Sherlock took John into his arms when he came back, still swaying a little in the silence. "MmKnow." he mumbled quietly, scenting John's neck and sighing softly before nibbling at his jaw. "Won't ever get over how you taste." he said softly.

John combed through Sherlock's hair, running the tip of his nose along his collar and dipping it down below the neckline of his dressing gown. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly, licking over Sherlock's skin and then pulling back to look up at him.

Sherlock sighed, "You know what I mean, you just did it too." he murmured, leaning up to kiss John, sucking on his bottom lip for a moment and nipping at it gently. "Your taste, just like your smell....can't ever get over it. How perfect it is...how I was lucky enough to get it back." he sighed a little, "It's safe, and you...and mine." he said with a soft smile.

John hummed, kissing Sherlock slowly, savouring his unique flavour. "You're exquisite," he murmured, running his fingers up Sherlock's sides and over his shoulders, trailing his hand through his hair. "And you're mine."

Sherlock nodded, purring almost as he leant up into John's hand. "Mhm...all yours." he murmured softly with a smile. He nuzzled closer to John, reaching behind him and picking up John's coffee, holding it for him and letting the heat seep into his fingers. 

John hummed, turning out of Sherlock's arms and pulling him back into the living room. He sat down in his chair, tugging Sherlock back onto his lap and wrapping his arms around him. "I love you," he whispered, nuzzling against his shoulder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of part three. Thanks to you all so much for reading and commenting! It really means so much to hear from you all. 
> 
> Part four is blocked out and is in need of editing. And just a reminder, due to timing and our respective schedules at college we're both a bit busy. 
> 
> That being said, for the future and until further notice you can expect updates to be much like Orange is the New Black. That is all at once for you all to enjoy. We'll see you in part four lovelies, stay tuned! <3


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